Flowers for a Funeral
by 3rdgal
Summary: Sequel to Flowers for a Friend. Someone is out for revenge... Now complete!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters and I don't make any money off of them.

**A/N:** You don't have to have read Flowers for a Friend but it would probably help. Thanks as always to ritt, the world's best beta and sounding board!

**Present**

_It's funny,_ Don thought aimlessly. _How your nose always itches at the most inconvenient times. Not much you can do to scratch it when you're lying on a table, fastened down in five-point restraints with an extra strap across your bare shoulders, shivering in the cold._

The randomness of his thoughts spoke volumes as to how nonchalant he'd become about his situation. He'd spent so much of the past twenty-four hours in a drug-induced haze as he was transported by his captors that he'd ceased to have a single coherent thought. Had he been more alert, Don would have realized that he had every reason to be concerned, if not downright panicked.

In fact, he was still so far out of it that Don didn't realize his companion – someone who had been abducted with him – was no longer with him. All he knew was that his existence had been simplified to a hated routine – wake from a drug induced sleep, feel a needle slide into his neck and return to dreamless slumber.

He was dragged to semi-awareness once more as the door to his cell creaked open, revealing the largest of his abductors smiling at him coldly.

_Big Blond,_ Don reminded himself, the agent buried beneath the mental fog still needing to identify his captors by some sort of name.

"I see you're awake," the man sneered as he moved to Don's side. "You have an annoying habit of coming around before you're supposed to. I won't have to worry about that any more, though." He gripped Don's jaw and forced it open as he poured a glass of water down his throat.

Don worked his sluggish muscles and swallowed as efficiently and quickly as he could, feeling like he was in a sick race against time to avoid drowning. His fists clenched uselessly at his side as he struggled to arch his back or do anything to escape the torture, succeeding only in leaving himself exhausted and panting for air once his captor had released his grip.

"No sirree," his captor grinned. "Can't have you getting dehydrated. And no more drugs for you, either. We want you awake, alert and clear as a bell for the next few days of… _fun_."

Despite his clouded mind, the blond's last word managed to send a shiver of fear down Don's spine.

"Ah, is the little Fed scared?" Big Blond laughed evilly. "Don't be. Reunions are always fun. You know – seeing people you haven't spoken to for such a long time. There will be so much catching up to do, although I suspect for the most part you'll be the one doing the listening." The big man paused as if to consider his theory and then smiled and shook his head. "On second thought, we _did_ have this place soundproofed… I guess you'll be doing some talking, too… if you'd call it that." He leaned over and pinned Don with an intense gaze, as if he were eyeing a lab specimen about to be dissected.

"Who?" Don rasped, his rough voice barely audible.

"You'll find out soon enough," Big Blond told him as he turned to leave. Just before he exited the room, he snapped his fingers as if remembering an important thought and whirled back around to the bound man in front of him. "Oh wait, he told me to give you this."

With an icy glare, the big man leaned over and pulled something from his jacket pocket, watching Don shake his head as his eyes fearfully tracked the object. "No…"

"He said you'd recognize it," Big Blond chuckled as he laid it on top of Don's heaving chest. "I'll leave you alone to think about how much fun you're going to have when he gets here."

Don's attention was so focused on the hateful object on his torso that he hardly noticed when his captor took a picture of him before leaving the room and shutting the door behind him. Left alone in the room, the agent's blood ran cold with fear. _No, it can't be him…_

But the single white flower lying tauntingly on his chest told him that his worst nightmare had just come true.

**Twenty-four Hours Earlier**

"Thanks for dinner," Colby nodded to his boss.

"Hey, you deserve it," Don smiled back. "A little celebration after we wrap up a case like this is always in order."

"Megan and David sure missed out."

"I think they're happy where they are tonight. Ever since Larry returned to Earth, Megan's been spending every spare moment she has with him. And David's got that new girl he's interested in…"

"Yeah, yeah," Colby said with a shake of his head as the two walked down the street to Don's SUV. "The ME chick. He's been interested in her for a while. I finally gave him a kick in the pants to get him started and off they went."

"Real thoughtful of you, Granger."

"I try," he laughed. He studied Don for a moment and carefully observed, "I haven't seen Agent Warner lately."

His boss sighed and shrugged. "She got another protection assignment. She's very good at them."

"Apparently. Bummer though, man. Sorry."

"Life of an agent. Or two." Don spotted his SUV parked where they'd left it earlier, at the back end of the parking deck. "Sure did clear out since we got here."

With a glance at his watch, Colby pointed out, "It is eleven o'clock on a Wednesday. Not too many people are out eating dinner this late."

"Just overworked FBI agents like us," Don replied dryly, pulling out the remote for his vehicle. As he and Colby walked closer, Don pressed the button to unlock the car doors. The headlights flashed like they usually did, but neither man was prepared for the explosion that knocked them both off their feet.

"You okay?" Don coughed as he glanced over at his agent, his mind still trying to process what had just happened.

"I'm-"

Before Colby could answer, four men appeared from the shadows and raced toward the them. Don started to push himself to his feet, but a stinging sensation in his neck threw him off balance and he crashed back to the ground. "Granger?" he mumbled as his vision started to blur. He rolled his head toward his friend, not surprised to see Colby in a similar predicament beside him.

The sound of an vehicle coming to a halt nearby drew Don's attention away from his coworker. He tried to crane his neck around but his muscles had stopped obeying his commands. Cold metal encircled his left wrist as he was rolled onto his stomach and his right hand was soon locked into a metal bracelet as well. _Handcuffs?_ he wondered. His world spun alarmingly as one of their attackers hauled him to his feet, dragging him to a van and throwing him inside.

Don wanted to call out to his agent but found he was unable to speak as the drug rapidly spread through his system. He was very concerned about Colby and couldn't decide if it was a good or bad thing when he felt his friend's body tossed into the van beside him. Before he could give any more thought to his dilemma, the drug took over and Don slipped into unconsciousness.

--

Once their cargo was safely loaded, the four men sped through the parking garage, racing past – and almost sideswiping – the security guard's vehicle. The driver smiled coldly as they blew by the rent-a-cop exiting the garage and headed down the deserted street.

"Working like a charm so far," the red-headed man in the passenger seat said as he removed the ball cap and glasses he'd been wearing. "Now we just have to make it to checkpoint two before the cops are on our tail."

"I know the plan, Joey," the large blond man driving snapped. "Just keep an eye out on our six." He glanced in the rearview and was satisfied to see the other two men busy trussing up their captives even more tightly than before. "Go ahead and dose them again," he ordered. "The last thing we need is for either one of them to wake up and complicate our lives."

"Got it, Roberto," the smaller of the two nodded as he drew two preloaded syringes out of a case of many more.

"Cops?" the blond asked the redhead.

"No, nothing yet."

"Good," Roberto nodded. He allowed himself to relax just a fraction as he maneuvered the van through the streets of downtown, enjoying the sights around him as much as possible given his sense of urgency. He'd missed LA over the past ten months and he was glad to be back – even if it was only temporary. In fact when his boss had mentioned the trip to their old home Roberto had jumped at the chance, even though he knew that it was probably too soon to go back. Their organization was still in its early stages in Miami and Roberto wasn't sure leaving it in the hands of lower-ranking men was such a good idea. But he did miss LA and he knew his boss wouldn't really be able to focus on rebuilding until he got past the flame of hatred that burned in his heart. So Roberto had agreed – he would go grab Eppes and his boss could finally exact his revenge.

"There's the garage," Joey spoke up.

Roberto nodded and turned the van inside, carefully driving up to the second floor from the top. He spotted a solitary white van parked in the far corner and eased his vehicle into the spot next to it. "Load 'em up," he ordered as he killed the engine.

The two men in the back threw open the doors and transferred the agents into the other van. Roberto made sure his cap and glasses were on, then grabbed his 'kidnap kit' and joined the other three. Once he was settled he turned and eyed Joey. "That van is clear of prints, right?"

"I cleaned it myself this morning," the other man assured him. "And we've all been wearing our gloves and coveralls. They're not going to trace it back to us."

"They'd better not," Roberto growled as he started up the white van and backed out of the parking space. "You know what Mister Gardenia does to people who complicate his life."

"Yeah," Joey nervously nodded as he galnced at the unconscious agents in the back. "Yeah, I do."

--

Detective Steve Madison stared at the scorched remains of the SUV in front of him. He'd been a detective with LAPD long enough to know that a bombed vehicle in a public parking deck was going to lead to a large headache of interdepartmental bickering. Homeland Security and the FBI would be arriving at the scene as soon as they heard about the incident and Madison was determined to have his territory staked out before they could start meddling.

"Hey boss!" a young cop called out to him.

"Yeah, Jerry?"

"Security has the surveillance footage pulled up for us."

"Lead on," Madison said as he followed the eager young man down the stairs to the guard's shack on the first level. When they reached their destination, an older man in his late fifties wearing a guard's uniform nodded and pointed at the monitor in front of him. Madison squeezed into the shack and peered at the screen, swearing silently at what he saw. "How do I play this thing?"

The guard pointed to a button on the control panel which the detective pressed, watching as the footage moved forward. He saw two men approaching the vehicle, one of them using the remote to unlock the doors, when a bright light filled the screen. When it faded, Madison saw the two men lying on the ground in a daze moments before four other men – their identities obscured by eyeglasses and ball caps pulled low over their faces – appeared on the screen, binding and packing the two dazed men into a dark-colored van. As the getaway vehicle pulled away from the camera, Madison squinted at the license plate.

"Rewind it back to where you had it," the detective commanded the elderly guard. "Jerry, put in a call to the Feds. And tell them to have their digital enhancement guys on standby."

"What?" the younger man asked. "You _want_ me to call them?"

"Yes," he snapped as his headache started to grow. "That SUV that was blown up – it had government plates on it." As the young cop rushed off to his cruiser to make the call, Madison rubbed his temples and sighed, knowing his headache was only beginning.

--

Roberto brought the white van to a slow stop inside the empty building, eyeing the deserted area around them. When he was sure they were alone, he nodded to the men in back. "Let's get loaded up."

They jumped out of the van, pulling the two agents out with them and dropping them into a heap on the ground. The smaller of the two checked their captives' restraints as the other man began relocating their equipment to their newest form of transportation.

"This van has been wiped down too?" Roberto inquired as he studied Joey in the dim light of the building.

"I swear," the other man nodded. "I ain't going to mess the boss man's plans up."

"Well if you have, you'll be answering for it soon enough."

"I wouldn't let him or you down, Roberto."

"Good," the blond stated. "Now, make sure everything's ready to go. Report back to me when it is."

"Got it."

As Joey scampered off to help the other men – two brothers he thought of as 'Frick' and 'Frack' – Roberto watched their every move, a malicious grin appearing as he thought about how much fun the two kidnapped agents were in for. Especially Eppes. Gardenia rarely spoke of anything else during the past ten months except his overwhelming desire to exact revenge on the agent who had ruined his crime organization and sent him packing off to Miami. At times Roberto had been frustrated by his boss's single-minded determination, fearing that their new gang would suffer because of it. Roberto had quickly taken the reins and steered the Gardenia crew into an impressive status on the streets of Miami. And once his boss had gotten his revenge on Eppes, Gardenia could focus on the future instead of the past.

"We're all set, Roberto."

He nodded as he studied the privately owned and operated helicopter before him – capable of flying him under the radar to just about anywhere he wanted to go – and he felt the last of his tension melt away. In minutes the chopper would lift off from the desolate, makeshift airstrip, embarking on a quick flight to another major city where the journey would then continue on board a private jet with an official flight plan that conveniently did not mention a stop in Los Angeles.

A smile appeared on Roberto's face as he pulled out a prepaid cell and dialed a number from memory. "We got him," he said when the person on the other end answered. "We're at the airstrip now."

"Excellent," Gardenia replied. "I shall sleep well tonight. Tomorrow evening, then?"

"We'll be ready," the blond man assured him before disconnecting the call.

_It won't be long now,_ Roberto thought joyfully as he tucked the phone into his pocket. _And Eppes will finally get what's coming to him._

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Megan jerked awake as an insistent noise sounded in her ear. Momentarily confused as she shook off the last vestiges of sleep, she couldn't figure out why she was so warm and comfortable, or why the low light around her seemed to be flickering at irregular intervals. She moved to sit up and locate the source of the sound when someone let out a soft sigh beside her. Peering through the dimness, Megan smiled as she made out Larry's peacefully sleeping features, trailing her gaze down to where her head had been resting on his chest. That's right – they'd been watching a movie together and she's fallen asleep in his arms. As much as she would have loved to continue to gazing at him while in the comfort of his embrace, she now recognized the noise as her cell phone ringing.

With a weary and disappointed sigh she levered herself off the couch and felt blindly along the end table until her fingers bumped against the nagging device. "Reeves," she answered around a yawn.

"_Agent_ Reeves?" an unfamiliar voice asked.

"Yes," Megan answered, her mind immediately becoming alert. "Who is this?"

"Detective Steve Madison, LAPD," he informed her. "Listen, I'm afraid I have some bad news for you."

"What's going on?" she demanded, her voice growing loud enough to wake Larry.

"Megan?" he mumbled sleepily.

She mouthed 'sorry' to him as the detective continued.

"We had a car bombing at a mall parking garage tonight. Surveillance footage shows two men approaching an SUV as it explodes, after which they are both abducted by four unknown assailants." He paused and let out a deep breath. "Agent Reeves, the SUV belongs to the FBI, registered to one Special Agent Don Eppes."

"What?" Megan asked in shock. _Don? But the whole team was off work tonight. He and Colby had… Oh no – **two** men._ "Have you identified the other man with Agent Eppes?"

"We sent the video over to your tech guys," Madison replied. "They're enhancing the footage to try and get a positive ID on all six men. I suggest you check in with them while you make your way down here." He proceeded to give her the address and his cell number before disconnecting the call.

"Megan?" Larry asked, his voice heavy with concern.

_Oh God,_ she thought. _What do I tell him? And Charlie and Alan… No, we don't know that it's Don yet. _

"_Megan?_" the professor asked again, more insistent as he rose from the couch to stand next to her.

"It's, uh…" the agent trailed off as she looked into his worried face. _Best just to tell the truth._ "There was a car bombing at a garage tonight. It was… it was Don's car."

"Oh my God. Is he okay?"

"Two people were abducted right after the explosion, but we don't have a positive ID yet." She placed her hands on his shoulders and peered deep into his eyes. "Look, I have to go to the scene. Depending on what we find, we might need some help."

"Charles."

"Right. Plus, he needs to know about Don."

"You go on," the professor told her. "I'll pick up Charles and drive him to the FBI office."

"Thanks, Larry," Megan said as she gave him a quick kiss. "I'll call you both as soon as I find out more." She bolted out of the door to her apartment – trusting Larry to lock up with his key – and rushed to her car. She had just pulled onto the main road when her cell rang again. "Reeves."

"Agent Reeves," a woman's voice greeted. "This is Joyce down in image enhancement. I've managed to get and ID on our two abducted men. It's Agents Eppes and Granger."

"I was afraid of that," Megan told her. "What about our abductors?"

"They were all wearing ball caps to shadow their faces and some sort of protective eyewear, shooter's glasses maybe. I did get a plate number on the van they were using and I've got a BOLO out on it."

"You're terrific, Joyce."

"Hey, I want our boys back, too," she said sadly.

"I'll keep you in the loop," Megan promised before she flipped her phone shut. Her worry growing, she slammed her foot on the accelerator, dashboard light flashing and tried to set a land speed record as she headed for the garage.

--

"Watch it!"

"Hey, he's a big guy!"

Colby's world of silence was shattered by two angry voices as he landed hard on the ground, an uneven lump beneath him digging into his ribcage.

"That was my foot, though!"

"Quit whining and help me move him."

A pair of hands roughly slid under his arms and yanked him upward, throwing his world off balance. Another pair of hands grabbed his feet and lifted them off the ground, leaving Colby hanging uneasily in the open air. Suddenly he was moving forward, the jarring and swaying – as well as the remains of the drug in his system – setting off a wave of nausea. The agent tried to open his eyes but they were being distinctly uncooperative.

"Why couldn't we just drive him out here?"

"Because someone might see us, you moron!"

"But this is going to take all day."

"Not if you'd shut up and concentrate. Besides, if we used a car and got spotted or caught, what do you think Mister G would do to us?"

"Right," the other voice replied in defeat. "I wouldn't want that."

"So shut up and help me get him over there."

Much to his relief, both men stopped talking, leaving Colby a moment of quiet to try and figure out where he was and what was going on. The last thing he remembered was going to dinner with… _Don!_ It all came crashing back to him – the loud noise, the heat of the flames, the uncomfortable feeling of being hoisted into some sort of vehicle and then darkness. So if these two bozos were moving him, where was Don?

A surge of adrenaline coursed through his system, giving Colby just enough strength to open his eyes a slit. The world was a foggy blur around him, the most distinct shapes being those of the two men carrying him. He tried to blink to clear his vision, alarmed when it took almost a full minute to pry his eyes back open. He tried opening his mouth, but quickly discovered that required more energy than he had available.

"Hey, I think he's waking up."

"That drug takes a while to wear off. He's not going to be able to walk, much less try to get away. And in a minute, even that won't matter."

"Right," the second voice said uneasily. "You brought the stuff?"

"Of course I did. I'm the brains of our little duo, right?"

"You sure ain't the brawn."

"Almost there," he said, ignoring the other man's last comment.

_Where?_ Colby wondered. _Where are they taking me? And where is Don? _

"Up here?"

"On the hill, in the grass."

"I thought we wanted-"

"We do."

"But the grass is pretty tall. Are you sure they'll find him?"

_Find who? Me? What's going on?_ A renewed sense of urgency filled his being and Colby dragged his eyes open, his mouth finally obeying his command as well. "Don," he rasped.

"I'd worry more about myself if I were you," the 'brains' answered.

"What..." Colby managed before his voice gave up the ghost.

"Right here," Brains told the other captor, ignoring the agent's question.

Colby felt himself falling through the air before crashing onto a hard unforgiving piece of ground, his bound hands protesting as his full weight landed on top of them. A foot dug into his ribs and rolled him off of his hands and onto his stomach. A knee pressed into his back, pinning him in place, while a needle slid into his neck, releasing a burst of cool liquid into his veins.

"That'll keep you from going anywhere," Brains icily informed him. "Just in case this doesn't."

Before Colby could figure out what his captor meant by those words, there was a high pitched, muffled sound, followed by a blossom of pain in his left shoulder. As the agent tried to determine what had happened, a warm, wet trickle began running down his spine. _They shot me,_ he suddenly realized.

The pain in his shoulder combined with the drug in his system started to pull him under. He struggled to remain awake, focusing on the sound of the two men's footsteps as they walked away, leaving him alone and bleeding in the tall grass. Despite his best efforts, Colby lost the battle and succumbed to the encroaching darkness.

--

"Coming!" Charlie growled as someone pounded on his front door. He'd been reading over his freshman class's latest exams earlier that evening before finally drifting off to sleep about halfway through the stack of papers. He'd just been awoken by a frantic knocking on his door and he was irritated that whoever it was didn't seem to want to allow him even thirty seconds to make his way to the door. He sleepily peered through the peephole, frowning as he recognized the worried figure lit by his porch light. "Larry?" he asked as he opened the door. "What in God's name-"

"Get dressed," his friend told him as he brushed past the younger man into the house. "We need to journey quickly to the FBI office."

"Why?" Charlie frowned. "What's going on?"

"Megan received a disturbing phone call this evening," Larry informed his young friend.

"Larry?" Alan yawned as he stumbled down the stairs. "You realize it's three in the morning, right?"

"As I was telling Charles, Megan received a call a few moments ago," he repeated, trying to compose himself. "There was an explosion tonight – a car bomb was detonated inside a local parking garage."

"And they need my help," Charlie stated matter-of-factly.

"No," the normally eloquent yet loquacious man stumbled. "Well, yes… The car… it was Don's."

"What?" both Eppes men demanded in unison.

"Is he okay?" Charlie pressed.

"He wasn't in the car at the time of the explosion," the professor quickly clarified. "However, he _has_ been abducted."

"Abducted?" Alan asked in disbelief. "What do you mean abducted?"

"I really don't have any further information at this time," Larry said ruefully. "But I think it would be a good idea, Charles, if you were to gather your things and let me drive you to the FBI office."

"Of course," the younger man agreed as he grabbed his laptop.

"I'm coming, too," Alan insisted.

"I'm not sure what service you could-"

"He's my son, Larry," Alan growled. "I don't need to be able to solve any fancy equations to worry about my son."

"Of course not," the physicist meekly replied to the older man's departing back as he rushed upstairs to get dressed. Larry stood in the living room with Charlie, both men silent as each one tried to keep negative thoughts from racing through their heads. When Alan returned, Larry led him and Charlie to his classic car and climbed behind the wheel. For the first time in his life – second, if you counted the ride over – Larry broke every speed limit, knowing time was of the essence.

--

"It's clear."

Roberto nodded to Joey before opening the trunk of his car and sneering at the bound and gagged agent inside. "Let's make this quick," he told the other man as they lifted Eppes from the trunk and carried him into the building beside them. Once they crossed the threshold, Roberto supported the unconscious man while Joey went back outside and locked up the car before returning to his boss's side, closing and locking the door behind them.

Joey grabbed hold of the agent again and the big blond led them down the stairs into a large, soundproofed room. He couldn't help but grin as Joey's eyes widened at their surroundings, taking in the various restraints and instruments of pain. "Eppes is going to love his stay here, don't you think?"

"Wow," was all the redhead could manage.

"We need to get him secured on that table," Roberto stated as he nodded toward a corner of the room. Together they heaved the unconscious man across the room and up onto the table, which was equipped with a series of leather restraints. The blond took great joy in securing each and every one of Eppes' limbs to the table, before tightly cinching the final strap across the agent's shoulders. As he completed the task, the unconscious man mumbled, his eyes fluttering as he moved his head from side to side. "Get me another sedative."

Joey quickly obeyed, handing Roberto a syringe and watching as he injected the drug into the agent's neck. "Think that'll keep him out for a while?"

"It should," Roberto nodded. "But then you never know with Eppes – he's one tough guy. That's one reason our boss is looking forward to breaking him."

"That and the fact he ruined his business in LA."

"Good to know you pay attention, Joey," the blond shook his head. "People who don't… Well, Mister Gardenia doesn't keep them around too long." Roberto stretched his arms over his head and let out a yawn. "I'm going to grab a nap so I can get up early and make sure everything is set up for tomorrow. You take first watch over our boy here."

"Sure thing."

"Call me if he gives you any trouble, but I suspect he'll be out all night. If he does wake up, just give him another dose. We don't want him getting too clear-headed until tomorrow night."

"You can count on me, Roberto."

"I'd better be able to, Joey," the blond replied menacingly as he left the room, leaving the unspoken threat to keep the younger man company through the night.

--

"Detective Madison?" Megan called to a tall man, wearing a rumpled suit and growling at a uniformed cop.

"Agent Reeves?" he asked as he held out his hand. At her nod, he went on "We got a hit on that getaway van. It's been found at another parking garage across town."

"Any sign of Don or Colby?" she asked hopefully.

"I'm afraid not," Madison shook his head in frustration. "Looks like they just stopped to switch vehicles. That garage has got surveillance footage, too, so I had it sent to your lab."

"Thanks," she told him as she nodded at the dark-colored van roped off with crime scene tape. "Anything useful?"

"No prints, no registration… nothing. Somebody wiped it down good."

"And yet they're perfectly content to let both of their getaway vehicles get caught on camera?" she inquired doubtfully. "Something's not right. It's like even though they don't want to be caught, they _do_ want us to track them."

"I agree, Agent Reeves, but I have no idea why."

Before she could respond, her cell shrilled. Checking the ID, she flipped it open and answered. "David."

"I'm at the office," he informed her, having made there in record time after she'd called him. "The tech guys have almost got the video of the second van enhanced."

"Get a BOLO out on it as soon as possible," she ordered. "What about the abductors? Any better glimpses of them?"

"Same ball caps and glasses," David sighed. "These guys are pros."

"That's what worries me," she confessed, her nervousness manifesting itself for a brief moment before her professional mask slid back into place. "Get a couple of teams together – enough so that we can work around the clock."

"Already done," her coworker promised. "They should all be here within the hour and I'll brief them then."

"Good," Megan replied as Detective Madison gestured for her to come with him. "I need to check in with the locals here. I'll keep you posted."

"Got it," he said before he disconnected the call.

"What's up?" Megan asked Madison.

"Forensics on the second scene found your agents' cell phones and badges in the back of the abandoned van," he advised her. "They're still working on the vehicle so I figured we should get over there and see what they find."

"I'll follow you," she said. With a mixture of desperation and urgency, she warned him, "Just don't drive too slow."

--

"Charlie," David greeted the professor entered the bullpen, flanked by Larry and his father. "Alan?"

"For the last time," the older man barked in anger, "I am not going to sit at home and twiddle my thumbs while Don is out there in the hands of some… _men_."

"Of course not," David said, holding up his hands in surrender. "You're more than welcome to wait here."

"What do we know?" Charlie inquired as his father collapsed into a spare seat.

The agent fought back a smile at how professional the genius sounded. "Not much right now. Megan's at the second scene and they've found their cell phones in the second van, but-"

"_Their?_" the professor interrupted. "Don wasn't the only one taken?"

"Colby's been grabbed, too," the agent informed him.

"Oh my God," Larry breathed. "Has there been any indication from the kidnappers as to what they want?"

"No, but…" David trailed off as he dropped his gaze to the floor. "Two agents taken like this doesn't exactly seem like a ransom situation."

"They took them for personal reasons," Charlie sighed in despair. "So they don't intend to let them go?"

"We don't know that for sure," the agent pointed out. "But no, typically a grab of this nature isn't a good sign." Seeing the despair that came across the two Eppes men's faces, he leaned forward and offered up a very good point. "But they didn't kill them at the scene, so…"

"Whatever they need them for, they need them alive," Charlie finished.

"And as long as they need them alive," David added. "We have hope that we can find them and free them before…" He didn't finish the sentence, but the unspoken words hung oppressively over the four men.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Just as the morning sun was struggling to rise and light the world, Megan was struggling not to let her hopes die. She'd spent all night at the two crime scenes and, other that the cells and badges, the vans had been completely useless for evidentiary purposes. The image enhancement on the footage from the second garage had yielded enough information for a BOLO on the second van but they had yet to receive any hits on it. She'd called David a couple of hours ago to update him and learned that Larry, Charlie and Alan were all camping out at the office. The weary agent climbed from her car and made her way into the FBI building, trying to put on her best game face before she had to face her fellow agents and Don's very distraught family.

As the elevator doors opened, Megan approached her desk and found Charlie sitting in her chair, his laptop open on the desk as his fingers flew across the keys. "Hey, Charlie."

"Megan," he greeted, his eyes never leaving the screen in front of him.

"Find something?" she asked, leaning against the desk.

"David told me both vans had been stolen but from two different lots. I figured I could try to determine a central location that our perps might be working from."

Megan doubted he would be very successful in his efforts, but she understood his need to do something. She had the same feeling and was frustrated that they had yet to find a single decent lead to investigate. "Good idea, Charlie. Let me know if you find anything."

Megan rose and walked over to Alan, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder as his eyes locked onto hers. She was shocked to see that he had seemed to age ten years since the last time she'd seen him a week ago. _I guess worrying about your child does that to you. Even I feel like I've aged a few years and he's not my flesh and blood._ "We'll find him, Alan," she stated with what she hoped was conviction.

"You don't have anything, do you?" he asked despairingly.

"Not at the moment," she admitted. "But I swear to you I will not give up, no matter what."

He covered her hand with his and squeezed as tears formed in his eyes. "I know you won't. Thank you."

She patted his hand and moved to Larry, sinking into the empty chair next to him and laying her head on his shoulder. He laid his head on hers and grasped her hand in support. "You won't hesitate to inform me if there is anything I can do to help?"

"Find me a lead?" she asked tiredly.

"Would that I could," he said softly. "Not just the case, you know. Let me know if I can be of any assistance to you."

She lifted her head and met his eyes with a thankful expression. "You're here," she told him gratefully, leaning over and kissing his cheek. "That's enough." She laid her head back down and took comfort in his presence as she tried to formulate a game plan in the deathly quiet of the bullpen.

"Agent Reeves?"

She looked up and saw a young agent who had been called in to help. "What is it Marcia?"

"There's a call from Houston PD for you. Line three."

Megan nodded and took the call at her desk. "Agent Reeves."

"Yes, ma'am," a heavy Texas drawl greeted her. "This is Detective Rich Mathers with Houston PD."

"What can I do for you detective?"

"Actually, I think I can do something for you. We found an agent from your office."

"What?" she repeated loudly, drawing the attention of everyone around her. "Who? Is he okay? Where-"

"Slow down a second, miss," he interrupted. "His name's Colby Granger and we found him at a small airfield on the outskirts of town, lying in the grass at the end of the runway. One of the pilots landing a flight this morning saw him and called it in. He's being treated for a gunshot wound to the shoulder but from what I heard earlier, he's set to make a full recovery."

"Was there another man with him?" she asked.

"No ma'am, I'm afraid not. He was a little out of it when we got to him, but he did mention he'd been abducted with another agent. We've searched most of the area and we're flying a chopper over it, but your agent appears to have been left there alone."

"I'm going to have one of my agents fly out there to talk with him."

"Be my guest," Mathers said amiably. "We did go ahead and ask him if he knew who did this to him. Like I said, he was a bit groggy at the time, but he mumbled something about a 'Mister G'."

"Mister…" she trailed off as her stomach turned to ice. _No, it couldn't be… could it?_

"Agent Reeves?"

"Just thinking," she assured the detective. "Let me give you my number so you can contact me directly if you find anything else." Once she'd relayed the information, she hung up and turned to find several faces anxiously studying her.

"Donny?" Alan begged. "Please tell me they found him."

"They found Colby, alive but injured, at a Houston airfield," she relayed. "No sign of Don."

"None?" Charlie asked despondently.

"They've got an aerial search going, but nothing so far." She turned to David and smiled, knowing he was happy his best friend was alive. "I told them I would send an agent…"

"I'm on my way," he replied gratefully.

"Before you go, I need to go over something with you." She gestured to the empty conference room as she looked at Charlie. "You too." She followed the two men inside and shut the door behind her. "This is hard to say and I'm not sure it's the case, but I have a bad feeling…" She sighed and shook her head. "Remember the Gardenia case?"

"The man who almost killed my brother?" Charlie scowled. "Yeah, I think I have some _vague_ recollection of that."

"Of course you do," she nodded. "That was a dumb question. But what I don't think you know is that after we closed the case and Don was out of the hospital, he found a card stuck in his front door. There was a picture of a gardenia on the front and a note inside that read 'To Our Future'."

"And you didn't do anything?" Charlie demanded angrily. "That's an obvious threat! You… you knew this was coming!"

"Please calm down, Charlie. We _did_ try to do something. Don and I had forensics go over the card but they couldn't find anything. We took the card to Merrick but, without hard evidence, we couldn't pursue the issue. Remember, we had Gardenia's dental records – that's how we got a positive ID."

"That's right," David snapped his fingers. "We sure did. So… how did we get a positive ID on the body of a guy who might not really be dead?"

"Why, if his dentist gives us the wrong records," Megan countered. "You go on to Houston and I'll bring in that dentist… what was his name? Samson, Salsbury…"

"Salazar," David offered.

"That's it," she agreed. "Now, go on and I'll deal with the good dentist." After David left the room, Megan turned to face an angry Charlie. "You know I would never intentionally let Don put himself in danger."

"And yet you did."

"Charlie," she said reasonably. "I understand you're mad at me, but Don and I _did_ try. There was just too much overwhelming evidence that Gardenia was dead and the card was simply a cruel joke."

"Look, I don't want to waste time talking about this," Charlie told her dismissively, his anger still readily apparent. "Right now I just want my brother back, alive and well."

"I want to find him, too," Megan quietly reminded the young genius, but he had already turned and left her alone in the conference room. _I wonder if telling the others is going to go as well as this just did._ She looked through glass and saw Alan trying to calm Charlie down, his own face clouded with confusion at his youngest son's fury. _Oh yeah, I'm about to have another angry Eppes on my hands for sure._

She blew out a deep breath, resigned herself to her fate and stepped out of the frying pan and into the fire.

--

"Good morning, Jacob," Gardenia smiled as he emerged from the bedroom of his suite.

"Good morning, Mister G," his muscular bodyguard returned. "I've taken the liberty of calling down to have breakfast delivered this morning."

"Excellent," the crime boss nodded happily as he took a seat at the small dining table. "You've made sure the car is ready?"

"I've got it gassed up and checked over the engine, tires – the whole ball of wax. We're ready to head to LA as soon as you like."

"Breakfast first," Gardenia told him. "Then we can get underway. I'll be honest with you, Jacob. I'm dying to see my little friend again but I keep telling myself that I have to be patient."

"Of course."

"I'm telling you this now because I know we're going to be driving nice and slow as we travel to LA and I might seem a bit antsy about how long it's taking. I don't want that to sway you from our game plan."

"It won't," Jacob assured him. "I'm not going to take any chances that we get pulled over for speeding or anything like that."

He was interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by a soft woman's voice announcing, "Room service."

Jacob opened the door and let the diminutive Hispanic woman inside, watching her like a hawk as she unloaded the trays of food onto the dining table. When she had completed her task, Gardenia waved at Jacob to tip her, which he did rather generously before escorting her from the room. The bodyguard locked the door and joined his boss at the table, inhaling the delicious aroma.

"Wonderful," Gardenia commented after he swallowed a bite of egg. "You outdid yourself with the menu selection, my friend. Join me?"

Offers like that were few and far between coming from the crime boss, so Jacob nodded thankfully and served himself. "Very good, Mister G," he agreed after he'd taken a bite. "Roberto's missing out."

"Ah, Roberto," Gardenia smiled. "For all of the risk he's put himself through he's delivered outstanding results. I'll owe him dinner from his choice of restaurant once we've completed this mission. You'll come as well, Jacob. After all, you and Roberto will be carrying out the more strenuous part of the reunion activities."

"I'm looking forward to it," the muscular man stated with a malicious smile. "There's nothing better than a good, intense workout with a punching bag that doesn't fight back."

--

"Hello, Doctor Salazar," Megan said coolly as she entered the interrogation room. She'd had one of her agents pick up the dentist and bring him in on the grounds that they needed him to 'clarify some questions that had come up'. _Which was true enough,_ Megan mused. "It's been a while hasn't it? About ten months?"

"Yes," he replied as he clasped his hands together and rested them on the tabletop. "I guess it has. Your agent said there were some questions I could help you with?" There was just a hint of nervousness in his voice as he made the inquiry.

"Yes, Doctor Salazar, there are. When we came to you ten months ago, you were kind enough to hand over some dental records to help us ID a burned body."

"Yes, I recall that. And you were successful, were you not?"

"Very," she nodded. "We identified the body in question as belonging to Hector Gardenia. We couldn't have done it without your help, you know."

"It was the least I could do," he shrugged.

"Your civic duty?"

"I suppose you could say that."

"Well, I know you're a busy man, so I'll cut to the chase." Megan took a seat in the chair next to him and leaned forward, crowding his comfort zone. "It's come to our attention that Hector Gardenia is still very much alive."

"What?" the dentist whispered.

"He's alive," Megan repeated as she leaned even closer. "What's really got us puzzled is how his dental records could match a body that wasn't his. How do you suppose that might happen?"

"It's not possible," Salazar insisted in a shaky voice. "I gave you Hector Gardenia's x-rays. If your techs screwed it up-"

"The FBI has the finest forensic scientists on staff," Megan cut him off. She paused as the fidgety dentist looked at anything and everything in the room except her. "You want to hear what I think, Doctor Salazar?"

"I don't have a choice, do I?"

"I think that Gardenia or one of his men gave you a call and told you about the body. I think they told you who it was that died and that you needed to switch that man's records with Gardenia's."

"How would I have the other man's records?" Salazar shook his head.

"I don't think gangs have dental plans, but I bet they can use their boss's dentist when they need to. Which means that you would have x-rays for just about everyone on Gardenia's crew."

"You're wrong," the dentist told her but his words lacked any conviction.

Megan paused as she studied the man's face, every inch of it screaming that he was about to crack under the weight of his deception. Her spirits soared as she realized she was about to receive positive confirmation that the crime boss was still alive, giving her the first solid lead of the case. "Doctor Salazar," she said gently. "I understand we all make bad decisions sometimes. I think you made one, either out of fear for you or your family's lives or for enough money that you could one day retire without a care in the world. But you _did_ make that bad decision, didn't you?"

"I…" The dentist stopped speaking as he buried his face in his hands. "I didn't know he'd…" 

"Of course you didn't," the agent replied sympathetically. "But now you can start to right your wrongs. You want to do that, don't you?"

The dentist gave a silent nod, his face still hidden.

"Tell me where his base of operations is in Houston."

"What?" Salazar asked, lowering his hands to look at her.

"Do you have the address there… or at least a neighborhood block?"

"Houston?" he repeated in confusion. "Why are you looking in Houston? Gardenia told me he was relocating to Florida."

"Florida?" It was Megan's turn to look surprised.

"Miami, I think. He even made a joke about joining the thousands of retirees down there."

"Miami," the agent echoed as she shook her head. "Wait here, Doctor Salazar." Megan bolted from her chair and rushed from the interrogation room. As she entered the bullpen, she pointed to Marcia. "Call Miami PD and see if they have any gangs operating under Hector Gardenia."

"Miami?" Charlie asked as he rose from his seat at David's desk. "Why Miami?"

"That's where he told his dentist he was going," Megan answered.

"But Colby-"

"I know, Charlie. But we didn't find anything else in Houston. Maybe they dumped Colby there after they shot him, thinking he was dead and not wanting to be caught flying with a dead body on board. Or maybe they dumped him there to throw us off track. Whatever the case, I think Miami is where we need to look."

"But would he really be stupid enough to continue operating under his old name?" the professor pressed.

"Charlie," Megan spoke softly as she moved to his side. "I don't know, but this is the best lead we have so far. I have to follow through on it."

"Right," he nodded. "Maybe I can help."

"How so?"

"Just leave that to me," he smiled confidently as he sat back down at the desk and opened his laptop. "I'll let you know when I find what I'm looking for."

"Okay, Charlie," Megan grinned, happy to see his spirits lifting a bit as he was able to contribute to the search for his brother. Knowing this would be the last time she ever saw him smile like that if they didn't find Don alive, she silently prayed that this lead would turn out to be the break they needed.

--

"How'd our boy sleep?" Roberto asked as he entered the large converted basement.

"I had to give him another shot a couple of hours ago," Joey reported. "Other than that he's been out the whole time."

"Good. We'll start letting him wake up this evening once Mister G arrives." Roberto moved to a workbench nearby, slowly running his hand across the variety of instruments laid out across it. _So many toys to choose from,_ he smiled as he thought of the bound man behind him. _I'm going to make you scream like you never have before._

"Mister G's getting here tonight?" Joey inquired as he joined the blond at the table.

"This afternoon or this evening," Roberto corrected. "They want to be cautious on their journey here. And Mister G will need to rest after the trip; he still tires easily from the wound he received a few months ago."

"Yeah, the guy Jimmy and John took to Houston," Joey stated. "He's the one that actually shot Mister G, right?"

"Yes, but it was Eppes who led the assault team."

"Still," Joey frowned. "Why not just kill the other guy when we grabbed Eppes?"

"Because we needed something to throw the Feds off our trail. What better witness to do that than one of their own agents? They find him in Houston and he tells them his buddy was alive last he remembers so they start searching the airport and surrounding city. When they come up empty, they'll have to start tracking down all the departing flights to see what other cities Eppes might have been taken to. And they'll have a hard time figuring out which plane to focus on because Frick and Frack didn't arrive in Houston from LA, now did they?"

"No, their flight plan has them arriving from Las Vegas," Joey remarked. A light bulb appeared to go off in his head and his face lit up with a goofy grin. "That's why we rented the private chopper! So we could fly _in_ from Vegas and the brothers could fly the other agent _back_ to Vegas, all without leaving a record."

"Right," Roberto impatiently nodded. "We didn't have to worry about an official flight plan because we kept the helicopter off the grid. And because of that, the Feds are going to be chasing their tails for a long time." Roberto looked over his shoulder and glared malevolently at their unconscious captive. "Which means we'll have all the time in the world to entertain our guest."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

"Look at you, you lazy bum."

Colby wearily looked away from the small TV at the foot of his bed, his face lighting up as he recognized David standing in the doorway of his hospital room. "Good to see you too, man."

"How's the shoulder?" David asked as he slid a chair close to his friend's bedside.

"It's fine now, thanks to the wonders of pain killers. Any news on Don?"

"No, man. Sorry."

"Damn," Colby sighed. "I know he was alive when they grabbed us and tossed us in that van, but I don't remember seeing him at all after that. They've searched the area where I was found?"

"Yeah, thoroughly," the other agent assured him. "But we have a good reason to suspect Don might be in Miami."

"What?"

"You remember the dentist who gave us Gardenia's x-rays for identification?" At Colby's nod, David continued, "Turns out he switched the x-rays with those of the man who was actually killed. Gardenia mentioned he would be relocating to Miami."

"No kidding? Wait – wouldn't Gardenia's name pop up in the system somehow?"

"We're still working on that angle," David replied.

"So, since I've been a little fuzzy to say the least, how long since Don and I were grabbed?"

"According to the timestamp on the surveillance footage," David said as he checked his watch. "It's been right at eleven hours."

"I was afraid of that," Colby sighed. He remained silent but he knew David was thinking the same thing he was – the first twenty-four hours in an abduction case were critical in finding the victim alive.

"Do you have any idea what these men wanted?" David finally broke the silence. "Did they say anything?"

"I know I heard them refer to 'Mister G', which makes sense now that we know Gardenia's not dead. But other than that… no, they didn't say anything of importance. I wish I could be more helpful."

Sensing the injured man's frustration growing, David patted his forearm. "We're going to find him."

"I just feel like I shouldn't be lying around on my back when Don needs our help."

"Granger," David scolded as he shook his head. "You were shot, man. No one – not even Don – expects you to get out of bed and back to work less than a day later. As hard as it is for you, you're going to have to sit this one out."

"I know," Colby finally relented. "Just make sure you find him alive, okay?"

"That's the plan," David promised. "I need to go check into my hotel. You'll be okay while I'm gone?"

"I do need you to do me one favor."

"Name it."

"There's a cute redheaded nurse out there," Colby said with a slight grin. "Tell her I could use a sponge bath?"

"You know what?" David asked, an evil glint in his eye. "I think she was busy. But there was a big, burly orderly looking for something to do." The laughing agent had to duck as an empty plastic cup was hurled in his direction.

--

"Did you enjoy your stay, Mister Rubiac?" hotel manager Steven Connors asked.

"I certainly did," the man before him replied. "Whenever I come back to town I'll sure to stay here again."

"I'm glad to hear it, sir." The manager peered through the front doors and gestured at the Crown Victoria that had pulled to a stop along the curb. "I believe that's your car. May I?"

Rubiac allowed the manager to escort him outside as he casually asked, "You had housekeeping double check our room to make sure we didn't leave any of our belongings behind?"

"Yes sir," the manager assured him. "As you requested."

"Thank you," the man said as he slipped the manager a generous cash tip. "And please remember, I do value my privacy."

"We respect all of our clients' privacy," Connors said with a conspiratorial wink. "No one will ever know you were here."

Rubiac smiled thankfully before sliding into the passenger seat of the car. "Thank you, Jacob," he said to his driver as he shut the door. The guest gave a final wave to the manager as his driver climbed in and drove them away. Once they were on the open road, Rubiac smiled. "I think that went well."

"I agree, Mister G."

"Let's hope our journey to LA goes just as smoothly."

--

"Nothing?" Megan asked in frustration. "They're sure?"

"Yes ma'am," Marcia replied. "Miami PD has no Gardenia on file. I pulled his other alias – Dikamali – and had them check it too, but nothing."

"Thanks, Marcia," Megan sighed as she rose from her chair. She crossed the floor to David's desk, where Charlie was busy scrolling through a list of search results. "Charlie, I've got some bad news."

"Hmm," he mumbled, his eyes never leaving screen in front of him.

"We can't find any sign of Gardenia in Miami. I… I don't know where else to look. I'm so sorry."

"Just a second," the professor said distractedly.

The agent sat on the edge of the desk and waited, knowing that it was nearly impossible to get Charlie to listen when he was so wrapped up in something. At least she had gotten Alan to listen to reason earlier and let Larry take him back home to rest. It had been so hard to watch him as he sat in the conference room, looking so helpless and sad as he no doubt wondered where his oldest son was and if he was even still alive.

"Got him," Charlie announced triumphantly, drawing Megan's attention back to the present.

"You found Gardenia? Where?"

"In Miami."

"Charlie, that's what I was telling you-"

"I'm sorry," the professor said as he eagerly shook his head. "I didn't find _Gardenia_, but I found his new alias."

"Alias?"

"In Miami, there's a small time gang that's been trying to work its way up on the food chain. They just landed on Miami PD's radar about eight months ago. Mostly small stuff, nothing to get them a lot of attention-"

"Charlie," Megan interrupted. "Time is of the essence."

"Sorry. He's going by Remy Rubiac."

"How do you get that?" she inquired.

"Gardenias belong to the family _Rubiaceae_ so he shortened that for his last name. There's a variety known as _Gardenia remyi_ so he took the last part and shortened it for his first name."

"Marcia!" Megan called to the agent that was currently using Colby's desk. "Call Miami back and ask about Remy Rubiac. See if they know his location."

"On it."

"Great work, Charlie."

"Thanks," he replied quietly. "Do you think…"

"What?"

"Nothing," he shrugged.

"Tell me," Megan gently prodded.

"Do you think he's still alive?" Charlie's eyes were swirling with emotion as he gave her a pleading look.

"I think," she began, carefully measuring her words. "That it's a good sign that they didn't kill him right away. That means they want him alive for something."

"Yeah, but what if that something is revenge?"

Megan frowned at his question. She'd been thinking the same thing but hadn't wanted to worry the young genius even further. She knew from her experiences as an agent that most of the time if revenge didn't involve a quick bullet to the brain, it was usually an excruciating ordeal dragged out over an extended period of time. The good news was that even though Don might be suffering badly, they still had time to find him. But Megan didn't want to express that thought to the young man staring at her with so much hope.

"Megan?"

The agent blinked to clear away the depressing thoughts and pasted what she hoped was a confident smile on her face. "Then we'll have to find him sooner rather than later. And thanks to your research, I think we can accomplish that now."

"Agent Reeves," Marcia called as she joined her colleague and the professor. "Miami PD verified there is a gang operating under a guy named Remy Rubiac. The crew hasn't committed any major offenses yet, so they're not under full time surveillance. A couple of members of the gang task force are hitting the streets to gather some info from their CIs in the hopes they can figure out where Rubiac is and if he was involved in the kidnapping."

"Great work, Marcia. Go ahead and call down to the local Bureau office and let them know we'll be headed that way if we can verify that's where Don was taken." The younger agent nodded and returned to Colby's desk. Megan turned her attention to Charlie and patted his shoulder. "You feel like going home and getting some rest?"

"You're joking, right?" he snorted.

"That's what I thought. Tell you what, see if you can grab a few winks in the conference room." As the young man started to protest, Megan waved her hand to cut him off. "If we do find out Don's been taken to Miami – or anywhere for that matter – I'm going to need you to help me narrow down the search grid. I think we both know you'll be in better shape if you've gotten some rest. Please, Charlie."

"You'll come get me as soon as we know something?"

"Scout's honor," Megan smiled and held up three fingers.

--

Charlie sat alone in the darkened conference room, slouched in his seat, trying to fall asleep and failing miserably. Every time he closed his eyes images of Don would play in his head. Don protecting him from bullies when they were kids; sitting awkwardly beside him at dinner when he visited from college; smiling gratefully when Charlie told him he could help him with a case. Unfortunately those memories weren't the only images he was seeing. There were others too, imagined and terrible. Don being tortured at the hands of faceless men; falling to the ground as a bullet was fired into his brain; lying in a pool of blood. Charlie felt himself spiraling into darkness as his heart grew heavier with sorrow…

"Charlie?"

The soft voice startled the young genius so badly that he nearly slid out of the chair. A hand immediately landed on his shoulder, helping him to remain in his seat.

"Sorry, son," he recognized his father's voice. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Dad?" Charlie asked as he rubbed his eyes.

"Yes, it's me. I didn't realize you were asleep. You looked so uncomfortable, but then you always could sleep in the weirdest positions."

"I wasn't sleeping."

"No?" his father asked dryly. "That's funny because your eyes were closed and your thoughts sure weren't in this room."

"I was… thinking."

"About?"

Reluctant to discuss or relive the disturbing images, Charlie dodged the question with one of his own. "Didn't you go home?"

"That was hours ago," Alan said as he set a large paper bag on the conference table. "It's dinner time and knowing you as I do, I figured you hadn't eaten all day." He eyed his son, not surprised when the younger man shrugged and studied the floor. "Right. Well, I brought enough food for both of us."

"I'm really not hungry, Dad."

"I know. I'm not either, truth be told, but we need to take care of ourselves. It's would Don would want."

"He's not dead," Charlie spat angrily, immediately regretting the harsh words.

"I know he's not," Alan replied gently. "But when we get him back, don't you want to be strong enough to help him?"

"Of course," Charlie whispered apologetically as he joined his father at the table. "I didn't mean-"

Alan covered his son's hand and squeezed as he gave him a warm smile. "I know." The older man began removing the containers of food and quickly served up two plates.

"So," Charlie began hesitantly as he chewed a bit of meat. "Do… do you think he's okay?"

"I pray that he is."

The professor nodded as he swallowed the flavorless morsel, wincing when his stomach churned in disgust. He felt guilty for asking the question, but he'd hoped his father's answer would make him feel more confident.

"Not what you wanted to hear," Alan remarked as he forced himself to swallow his own bite of food.

"I guess… Never mind."

"What?"

"No," the professor shook his head, knowing the answer would weigh heavily on his father's mind. 

"You thought if I said Don was okay you'd feel better?"

Charlie's eyebrows rose skyward. "How'd you know?"

"It's a father thing. When you two were young I could fix just about anything with a hug, a kiss or a confident word. Scraped knee? Some antiseptic spray, a band-aid and a pat on the shoulder. A broken heart? A hug, assurances you're a fine young man and there are other fish in the sea." Alan pushed his plate away and turned to face Charlie. "But this… I can't tell you it'll be okay or how to fix that gaping hole in your heart because I don't know how to fix the one in mine."

Charlie stared at the other man in shock, not used to hearing him admit weakness, especially as a father. He longed to say something to ease the older man's pain but couldn't find the words.

"And Donny," his father sighed in despair. "I can't… I don't even know where he is or if he's still…"

"Dad," the professor breathed as he leaned close to the older man.

"If I could just hold him, hug him, _touch_ him," Alan said desperately. "Everything would be all right – I could fix whatever was wrong. I know I could…"

Charlie's heart broke as his father's eyes filled with tears. He wrapped his arms around Alan's shoulders and hugged him as tightly as possible. "I know you could, too," he whispered fiercely into his ear. Oddly enough, his father's moment of need and doubt somehow strengthened Charlie's confidence and determination. "I'll find him, Dad. I'll find him so we can bring him home. I promise."

--

Hector Gardenia smiled as Jacob pulled their car into a driveway beside a darkened house. He took a slow, deep breath to calm his excitement. _I'm here,_ he thought happily. _All those months planning and I'm finally here._

A shadowy figure stepped through the back door, dimly lit by the stoop light. "Glad you made it okay," he greeted in a low voice as he helped the crime boss from the car. "You'd best get inside before anyone sees you. I'll bring your stuff in."

"Thank you, Roberto," Gardenia replied as he allowed Jacob to help him up the back steps, longing for the day when he was fully recovered and a long car ride wouldn't wear him out so badly. He followed Jacob into the house, gratefully sinking into the armchair Roberto had thought to place just inside.

"Hey, Mister G," a nervous redhead greeted from across the room.

"Good evening, Joey," he called back.

"Would you like anything to drink or eat?"

"Very thoughtful of you," Gardenia smiled appreciatively. "Perhaps a glass of water."

"You got it," Joey eagerly nodded, bolting from the room just as Roberto was coming inside.

"How is our young friend doing?" the crime boss asked as Roberto closed and locked the door.

"Eager to the point of being annoying," the blond sighed. "But he's been very efficient in his work."

"Good to hear. And our guest?"

Roberto's broad face broke out in a cold grin. "He's in the basement, tied up at the moment. The last dose of sedative should be wearing off soon."

"Good," Gardenia smiled approvingly. "Let him stay awake this time so he can ponder his fate."

"Right," the big blond agreed. "Anticipation can be a wonderful thing."

"You haven't told him I'm involved?"

"No, not a word, just as you requested. I imagine he'll be very surprised when he finds out you arranged all of this."

"As much as I'd love to peek in on him right now, I fear the stairs would be too much for me tonight." Gardenia nodded to Jacob, who pulled a single flower and a Polaroid camera from one of their bags, handing both to Roberto. "Give him that for me and take his picture when you do. I want to be able remember the look of fear on his face for the rest of my life."

The blond man cackled and shook his head. "You certainly have a knack for these things, Mister G."

"Here's your water, Mister G," Joey said as he returned and handed a glass to his boss.

"Thank you, Joey," the older man said before sipping the cool liquid. Once finished, he handed the glass back to the redhead and turned to his bodyguard. "I think I'll make my way to the bedroom now. Roberto, go give our guest my little present and report back to me before I call it a night. Jacob can help me to my room and Joey here can carry my luggage."

"Sure thing, Mister G," the blond nodded as he headed to the basement door. "Glad you thought of the camera. This is one moment I'm going to enjoy capturing on film."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Present**

"Charlie?" Megan called softly as she shook the sleeping man's shoulder.

"Don?" he asked as he bolted upright, wide awake in an instant. "Did you find him?"

"No," the agent replied sadly. "But we _did_ get some info about where he might be."

"Where?" Alan asked as he too woke up, stretching his arms over his head.

"Miami PD tracked down and questioned some of their CIs."

"CIs?" Alan asked.

"Confidential informants," she clarified. "It seems that Gardenia flew out of Miami on a private jet with five members of his crew."

"When?" Charlie demanded.

"Two days ago. The plane just landed back in Miami late this morning, but there were only two crew members on board."

"So Gardenia and three of his men might have stayed at their destination," Charlie thought aloud. "Do we know where that is?"

"Not yet, but we should have the flight plan they filed within an hour or two," Megan informed him. "Miami PD is picking up the two members who flew back to question them about their possible involvement in the kidnapping."

"So what can we do in the meantime?" Charlie asked her, his eyes full of a desperate desire to find his brother.

"Unfortunately it's a waiting game until we get the info we need."

The professor frowned at her words, checking his watch and shaking his head. "It's already been twenty-four hours. Don may not be able to wait much longer."

"I know," Megan whispered, just managing to keep her voice from cracking with emotion. "We're working as fast as we can, Charlie."

"I just feel useless," he confessed. "I need to be doing something to help find him. Analyzing data, pinpointing his location… something besides sitting here and twiddling my thumbs."

"You'll help when the information arrives," Alan spoke up from beside his son. "For now you can do what I'm doing."

"What's that?"

"Praying."

--

Colby lay in his hospital bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering why he had been dumped in Houston of all places. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if he was supposed to be found alive, left as a red herring to throw off the search. Was he supposed to hear the 'Mister G' comment also as a means of throwing off the search? Or were the two idiots who'd left him in the tall grass at the airstrip really that incompetent? He let out an involuntary growl of frustration as he realized it really didn't matter. Whatever the case was, they still weren't anywhere near finding Don.

"Good morning."

He looked up and saw David entering his room, a small white bag hidden under his jacket. "Hey, man."

"How are you feeling?" David asked as he shut the door behind him before placing the bag on Colby's tray.

"I want out of this place," the injured agent muttered. "I'm sick of being in bed."

"It's barely been one full day since you were shot," his partner reminded him. "But I figured you'd be getting uncomfortable, so I brought you a surprise." David carefully pulled a single jelly donut from the bag, setting it on a napkin and sliding it within his friend's reach. "Don't you dare tell anyone."

"You are the best pal a guy could ask for," Colby said as his face lit up with a smile. "My lips are sealed, especially if you've got a cup of coffee stashed in your back pocket."

"You're impossible," the other man groaned. "I already broke the rules to smuggle you food and now you want caffeine too?"

"Nah, the donut will be fine." Colby studied his coworker for a moment, raising an eyebrow as he took in the tense set of his shoulders. "You have news?"

"Yeah," David responded, pulling a chair to the bedside. "We tracked Gardenia to Miami, operating under the name Rubiac. Turns out he's not in town right now."

"No kidding," Colby mumbled sarcastically.

"Hold on and let me finish. We found out he took a flight out of Miami to Las Vegas with a stop over in-"

"Houston," the injured man finished.

"You got it. The flight returned to Miami via the same route, which explains how you wound up at an airfield here."

"So Don might be in Miami?"

"No," David growled. "The plane left with five men – Gardenia included – but returned with only two."

"Neither of which were Gardenia or Don."

"Right," David nodded. "They're being questioned by Miami PD now but the early indication is that these two guys are the ones who dumped you here. I'm having their pictures faxed to me so you can have a look."

"Sure, I'm game. But I wasn't really clear-headed at the time so I don't if I'll be able to recognize them."

"It's worth a shot," David pointed out.

Colby swallowed the last of his donut as his brow furrowed in thought. "So if Don didn't fly back with them and he wasn't left here with me, that means…"

"He may be somewhere in Las Vegas."

"That's a lot of city to search with a lot of shady establishments Gardenia could be using to stay hidden."

"I know," his partner nodded somberly. "We've contacted Las Vegas PD and sent over Gardenia's photo along with those of the other five men he left Miami with. We're hoping they can get a hit."

"Me too. How long since they grabbed us?"

"Thirty-three hours since the abduction and twenty-five hours since you were found."

"Thirty-three…" Colby trailed off as it hit him just how quickly time was passing. "We have to find him soon, David, or…"

"We may not find him alive."

The injured man nodded mutely as he and his friend shared a moment of silence, both trying not to consider the possibility that they might never see their friend again.

--

Don struggled against his restraints for at least the tenth time in as many minutes, groaning in defeat as he only succeeded in deepening the bruising on his wrists. He consciously avoided looking at his chest, refusing to acknowledge the flower that rested there and the message it so obviously conveyed. _Gardenia's dead,_ Don tried to tell himself, but the denial had long since worn off. _Who am I kidding? Obviously we screwed up on the identification of that burned body. I have a strong suspicion that dentist – what's his name – might have helped with that._

Of course figuring out the reason behind the misidentification did nothing to help Don's current situation and he knew it. It was, however, a slightly more pleasant thought to consider than the other images that seemed determined to manifest themselves in his mind. Images that involved any number of the implements so carefully and openly laid out on the cart across the room. For once, Don cursed his years of experience as an agent, as he knew far too well what kind of pain those items could – no, _would_ – be causing him soon enough.

The last thought sent Don tugging at his restraints again, wincing as he felt the skin on his left wrist break. As a trickle of blood rolled down his wrist to drip onto the table on which he was lying, it dawned on the agent that he was already causing injury to himself without Gardenia and his thugs even being in the room. Don let out a snort of derision and banged his head against the metal table in frustration. _How do you get yourself into these situations, Eppes?_

Oddly enough, the little voice inside his head didn't have an answer for that, and Don let his thoughts continue to tumble aimlessly through his head. It occurred to him then that Big Blond hadn't mentioned Charlie or his dad and the agent prayed that meant they would be spared this go round. His relief was so overwhelming that he'd almost dozed off when the door to the room creaked open, sending his heart to his throat and his stomach plummeting toward his feet. Nervously, but with a brave face, Don turned his head to the open doorway and watched as Big Blond entered, followed by another muscular brute of a man, and finally a small, almost feeble-looking Hector Gardenia.

"Hello, Eppes," the crime boss greeted with a cold smile. "Fancy meeting you again."

"Yeah," Don tossed back. "It's a pity you aren't really dead."

"Is that any way to treat an old friend?" Gardenia asked with a shake of his head as he moved closer to the table Don was fastened to. "Where are your manners?"

"I save them for _pleasant_ company," Don spat, knowing he probably wasn't helping his cause.

"Ah, that would explain it. Because this next little while will be anything but pleasant for you, my old friend."

"You've already kidnapped a Federal agent," Don stated, figuring he might as well try reasoning with his captor. "You don't want to add an assault charge to that too."

"What about killing?" Gardenia asked maliciously. "You seem to be forgetting that you weren't alone when we grabbed you."

_Colby!_ Don thought as his memory finally clicked into place. "What did you do to my agent?" he growled angrily.

"Left him where your friends would find him," the crime boss answered in a casual tone. "Of course, I doubt he survived the night bleeding from his gunshot wound."

"You sorry son-" A fist plowed into Don's cheek, cutting off his words as stars danced in front of his eyes. _When did Big Blond move so close to me?_

"No one likes profanity," Gardenia remarked as he snapped his fingers at the other muscular man in the room. "Jacob, if you will…"

Don watched as Jacob retrieved an all too familiar device from the table, sneering at the bound agent as he handed the item to Gardenia. He swallowed nervously, trying no to let his fear show as the crime boss made a show of examining the long, slender object in his hands.

"So, Eppes, this is how things are going to work. Ten months ago you almost killed me while ruining my operation and way of life. Because of you, I had to skulk off to some other city, recuperate and rebuild my operation. Needless to say, I wasn't very comfortable or happy during that period of my life. On more than one occasion I almost gave up – thought about letting myself wither away and die." Gardenia stepped closer to the table and rested a hand on Don's shoulder in a parody of affection. "You know what kept me going? The thought – marvelous and wonderful – of killing you. And now that time is here."

Don suppressed a shiver of fear as the crime boss leaned over him, studying him with a cold, calculating smile on his face.

"But there is a catch to this, Eppes. You see, I want you to feel how I felt; I want you to _want_ to die."

"Is that all?" the agent snorted.

"Actually, no," Gardenia chuckled. "There _is_ something else – you're going to beg me to kill you."

"Not a chance," Don stated defiantly as he stared hatefully into the other man's eyes.

"You say that now," the crime boss remarked. "But we've yet to get started. After all is said and done and you've sang a beautiful chorus of screams for me, you _will_ beg to die."

Don remained silent as he continued staring at the man hovering over him. It took every bit of strength he had not to flinch as Gardenia lowered the object in his hands to rest right above his navel. He felt the cold metal tips pressing more firmly into his bare skin as his captor's finger inched closer to the button that would discharge the weapon.

"Just let me know when you want to stop – when you're ready to die."

As the last word left Gardenia's mouth, Don was catapulted into a world of agony. He saw only a red haze, his heart pounding in his ears as his body arched against the restraints pinning him firmly to the table. The agent's world soon consisted of nothing but a fireball of pain as his skin was blistered again and again by the harsh kiss of the cattle prod. Darkness rose up to claim him and Don willingly allowed himself to be carried away, chased into a nightmarish sleep buy the echoes of Hector Gardenia's laughter.

--

"Thanks," Megan said as she hung up her phone.

"Well?" Charlie asked impatiently. It had been four hours since they'd discovered Gardenia had flown to Las Vegas and they'd been waiting for the local police to check around town and see if anyone remembered seeing him. "Anything?"

"He stayed at a local hotel under the name Remy Rubiac," she told him. "The hotel manager was less than cooperative until they started throwing around words like 'aiding and abetting in the kidnapping of a federal officer'. He finally admitted Rubiac had stayed there, but left yesterday morning right after breakfast."

"Did he say where he was going?"

"The manager claimed he didn't, but the detectives were very thorough, interviewing the entire hotel staff. Turns out one very scared room service girl had delivered breakfast to Rubiac's room. While she was straightening the food trays outside the door, she heard them mention plans to head to LA."

"What?" the professor asked, obviously puzzled. "Why would they come here if they've already grabbed Don?"

"It doesn't make any sense," Megan agreed. "They grab Don and Colby and somehow Colby winds up in Houston via Las Vegas and Don winds up who knows where."

"But how did they get from here to Houston? The plane they took was in Las Vegas and I don't think they would risk driving a stolen vehicle from here to Vegas with two kidnapped agents in the back."

"I don't know how to explain it either unless they changed vehicles again."

"Still, they'd risk being pulled over? I don't buy that." The young man steepled his hands and rested his fingertips against his lower lip. "Wait a minute, what if they _did_ fly from Vegas to LA?"

"They would have to have filed a flight plan," Megan reminded him. "We didn't find any others on file."

"You don't have to if you're flying by helicopter. They have their own section of airspace in the lower altitudes. If they flew low enough and quick enough, no one would have spotted them on radar."

"Right," her face lit up as she agreed. "But where does that leave Don?"

"In LA. This whole kidnapping thing – leaving Colby in Houston, filing their flight plan, even letting us see them on the surveillance cameras – was all part of a plan to throw us off track." Charlie looked up confidently at the map of Los Angeles on the wall behind him. "Don is still here, I'm sure of it."

"If that's the case, we need to figure out what areas to search," the agent mused as she studied the map. "The manager said they were driving an '03 or '04 light blue Crown Victoria when Gardenia left the hotel with his driver but he said he didn't catch the plate number."

"They don't have security cameras in the parking areas?"

"No," Megan snorted. "That wouldn't go well with the idea of 'client confidentiality'."

"Gas," Charlie mumbled. "If they're driving here they'll need to stop and get gas along the way. And they'd have to be cautious about it, too. Couldn't risk getting stranded on the highway."

"They also can't speed or do anything that draws undue attention to themselves," she pointed out. "But since I imagine they'd want to get here as fast as possible, they'd use the interstate, not the highway."

"So we know what car they're driving, I can get gas tank size and mileage, the speed limit on Interstate Fifteen…" the professor trailed off as he made a checklist in his head. "A list of gas stations, assuming they'd avoid the larger ones where there would be more potential witnesses…"

"We can start to track their movements," the agent stated excitedly. "Maybe even find someone who got a plate number or got them on camera." She gave Charlie a playful shrug in the direction of her desk. "There's your laptop – go find them." As he quickly obeyed, Megan gathered up the photos of Gardenia and the three other men who hadn't returned to Miami and began faxing them to every local law enforcement office within a one hundred mile radius and every organization that policed Interstate Fifteen.

_Hang on, Don,_ she silently pleaded. _It shouldn't be too much longer._

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Gardenia drank in the sight before him, marveling that he'd never seen anything quite so beautiful in his life. Eppes hung by his wrists from a hook in the basement ceiling, his feet completely off the floor, his arm and shoulder muscles tense and trembling with the strain of supporting his weight. The crime boss slowly trailed his gaze from the agent's arms to the numerous red blisters dotting his torso, grinning happily as he remembered the creaking sounds the leather straps had made as Eppes' body fought to arch away from the electric current.

_Yes,_ he thought to himself. _That's one image I will definitely hold near and dear for the rest of my life._

Gardenia's gaze trailed further down, coming to rest on the concrete block tied to the agent's feet. Even after the session with the cattle prod, Eppes had somehow found the strength to fight back as they moved him from the table, lashing out at his assailants with his bound feet. His futile effort had only succeeded in angering Roberto, who had taken a kick to the stomach and quickly rewarded the agent with a vicious blow to his already swollen jaw. The force had been severe enough to knock Eppes unconscious and the blond had gleefully taken the liberty of tying the heavy block to the limp man's feet.

A small moan of discomfort slipped past the agent's lips, drawing Gardenia's attention back to his face. Eppes' eyelids twitched and flickered before finally cracking open to reveal a pair brown eyes clouded with pain. The agent's tongue darted out to moisten his bottom lip, his face creasing in a frown as he tasted the dried blood crusted there from where he'd bitten through it earlier.

"It's about time you joined us," the crime boss icily greeted his captive. "I was getting bored."

"So… sorry," the agent mumbled sarcastically.

"You do have quite the spirit in you, my friend," Gardenia observed as he moved to Don's side and began circling him like a shark. "But so do I and _I_ will win this battle of wills." The man hanging before him gave a defiant huff, which Hector answered by jabbing a finger into a particularly inflamed blister. He grinned as the agent let out grunt of pain. "Roberto! Jacob!"

The two muscle-bound men appeared in the doorway, grinning like schoolboys when they saw their victim was awake. "We're ready, Mister G," Jacob said, swinging his arms back and forth to loosen them up.

"Grab what you need," Gardenia gestured to the cart as he moved to sit in a nearby chair.

"Too weak… do it… yourself," Eppes challenged in a hoarse voice.

"A man needs to know his limitations," he shrugged. "But I get just as much joy watching the act as I would performing it." Seeing his two men standing behind the agent, Gardenia smiled. "You played baseball, right, Eppes?"

The agent remained silent, determined not to give his captor the satisfaction of an answer, until something hard slammed into his lower back. "Mister Gardenia asked you a question," Roberto hissed in the agent's ear.

"That's okay, Roberto. He doesn't have to answer if he doesn't want to. We both know you _did_ play and were fairly good at it, if the statistics I found were any indication. Anyway, I think you were what they call a 'power hitter'? So you know what it feels like to swing a bat with all your might." The crime boss paused and watched as the agent's eyes widened at the direction the conversation was going. "But I have to know – did you ever wonder what it was like for the ball?" Eppes clamped his mouth shut and closed his eyes in anticipation of what was coming. "No? Well, soon you'll be able to tell me all about it."

At Gardenia's nod, Jacob hefted the baseball bat in his hands to his shoulder, assumed a batting stance and let loose a powerful swing that connected with the agent's taut lower back. Eppes barely had time to gasp as Roberto swung his own bat into the injured man's midsection, focusing on his lower rib area. They paused and looked at their boss who nodded in approval.

"I think those would be considered home runs," Gardenia smiled. "What do you think, Eppes?"

The agent remained silent as he defiantly eyed the crime boss.

"Your choice," he shrugged, giving his two men the go ahead. Eppes' body swayed wildly to the side from the force of Jacob's next blow. As he was swaying back to center, Roberto took a fierce swing that glanced off the injured man's hip.

"Foul ball," Jacob teased. "He barely moved."

"Let me go again," the blond grinned as he looked to his boss for permission. "I'll show you a power swing."

"What do you say, old friend?" Hector inquired. "You think he gets another turn? Or do you want me to end this all now?"

"Screw… you."

"Language," Gardenia barked angrily. "Batter up, Roberto."

The blond nodded and assumed his stance, landing the heavy wooden bat directly over the agent's kidneys. All three men laughed as Eppes failed to hold back a howl of agony. "Home run," Roberto announced.

"My turn again," Jacob announced. His swing resulted in a loud crack as one of the agent's ribs broke under the force of the blow. "Broken bone? That's like a grand slam."

Gardenia held up a hand to stop his two men as he rose from the chair and moved to the injured man's side. "My dear old friend, you don't look too well. That last swing had to hurt. Where did it hit? Right…" Hector reached up and dug his fingers into the agent's ribcage, finding a soft spot that gave. "Here?" he finished as Eppes let out a grunt of pain. "You don't have to suffer like this, you know. All you have to do is say the magic words."

"Not gonna… happen," the agent panted.

"As you wish." Hector patted his shoulder before returning to his seat. "Back to work, boys. But take it nice and slow."

Gardenia sat and watched as Roberto and Jacob flexed their muscles and took turns demonstrating what they considered to be ideal hitting techniques. The crime boss would occasionally have them pause so he could grill Eppes, asking if he wanted to give in yet. Each time the agent refused to reply and Gardenia would have the two muscle men go back to work. After a couple of hours, he finally called them off and told them to set their bats down.

"Let's break for dinner," he announced. "I'm looking forward to sampling Joey's culinary skills."

"What about him?" Roberto inquired as he sneered at the agent.

"He can hang out for a while," Gardenia smiled at his own joke. Just before they left, he looked over at Jacob and gestured to the other side of the room. "Turn the heat up, Jacob. It's too chilly down here." He watched as Jacob leaned down next to the table that Eppes had been strapped to earlier and fiddled with the knobs on the heater that stood next to it.

"I've got it all the way up," the bodyguard said as he straightened up. "It'll be nice and warm when we come back later."

"Good," Hector responded. His recovery from his wound was a long, ongoing process and his body tended to stiffen up and ache in the damp or cold. A basement hadn't been the first choice to carry out his revenge, but it was easily soundproofed and it did have one other important plus going for it. After all, what was that they said about real estate – location, location, location?

"Mister G?" Roberto's voice whispered in his ear, full of concern that his boss had made no move to leave. "Do you need help up the stairs?"

The older man shook his head, appreciating the blond's discretion. _After all, it wouldn't do to let Eppes know how weak I've become in the past ten months, now would it?_ "Just thinking ahead, Roberto." Hector cast one last glance at the agent hanging from the ceiling, relishing the painful wheezing breaths coming from his parted lips, before leading his two men from the room.

--

"I've got something," Charlie announced as he found Megan in the break room.

"What?" she inquired as she sipped her freshly poured coffee.

"There are approximately 450 gas stations along the way between Las Vegas and LA," he informed her as he began unrolling a map on the counter. "If we eliminate the large chains, that leaves a few dozen small 'mom and pop' type establishments."

"That's still a lot of ground to cover," she frowned.

"It is, but I was able to narrow that down even further. I got the gas tank capacity and estimated mileage for all '03 and '04 Crown Victoria models. The interstate speed limits vary, but sixty-five miles per hour is the lowest zone they'll drive through."

"Okay," she nodded as she gestured for him to keep going.

"They could make the trip on one full tank of gas, but I would think they would want to refuel before they get to the city to avoid possible detection by any local law enforcement agents that might recognize them."

"Makes sense," Megan agreed as she pointed to her watch. "Clock's running, Charlie."

"There are five possible stations they might have made their first refuel at," Charlie quickly concluded, pointing to five red circles on the map. "If you can figure out which one, maybe we can get a tag number, security camera image, or a witness who has an idea of where they're going."

"That's great, Charlie," Megan said as she led him into the bullpen. The number of agents she had available had slimmed down a bit since she had sent three teams out to check Gardenia's old places of business and his former associates. She finally rounded up two available agents and had them start calling the stations on Charlie's map.

Turning to the young man and seeing his sad expression, she placed a hand on his shoulder and reiterated, "That really is great work, Charlie."

"Thanks," he whispered. "But somehow it doesn't feel like enough."

"Don would be proud of you, believe me."

"Thanks," he said again, this time the hint of a smile lighting up his eyes.

"Agent Reeves," Marcia called as she held up a piece of paper. "Las Vegas PD just called. They found a helicopter pilot who flew four men to LA and three men back. They showed him a picture of Agent Granger and he confirmed he was the third man on the flight back. Said he was all quiet but the other guys said it was because he wasn't feeling well."

"And he believed it because he wanted to get paid," Megan shook her head. "Where in LA did he fly to?"

"A small airstrip just out of town," Marcia said. "I've taken the liberty of sending a couple of agents and an ERT team there."

"That's great, Marcia."

"It gets better," she said, halting Megan as she was about to check in with the agents working the gas station angle. "He said when the men came back to the airstrip to fly back to Las Vegas, all four men came along with Granger and a second man, who he ID'd as Agent Eppes."

"Was he alive?" Charlie begged as he stepped in front of Megan. "Tell me he was alive."

"Yes, he was," Marcia quickly nodded.

"Thank God," the professor breathed as he sank into a chair.

"The pilot said that the men who didn't fly back with him were loading up to leave in a red car, a late model Honda of some sort."

"I want you to head out there and let me know as soon as we have something from that airstrip," Megan told her. "And tell ERT this is an emergency – a life or death situation for one of our own."

"Yes, ma'am," Marcia replied as she grabbed her gear and headed for the elevators.

"Charlie?" Megan asked softly. "Your father went home earlier, right?"

"Yes. Said he needed to take a shower, but… I think he wanted to be home to feel closer to Don."

"I understand. And you?"

"I… I want to be here to help."

"You can work on your laptop at home. I can email you any data you need." Seeing the uncertainty appear on the professor's face, she patted his shoulder. "I'm not making you, Charlie. I just think you should consider it."

"I will," he whispered.

"Good. In the meantime, why don't you call your father and give him the news?"

--

Alan Eppes stood in front of his living room window, staring through the glass but not really seeing anything. His mind was a million miles away contemplating Don's disappearance and how hard a time he was having coping with the situation. The thought of never seeing his oldest son alive again kept popping up despite Alan's desperate attempts to keep it banished from his mind and the weary father wondered how in the world he would ever be able to cope with such a tragedy. He began to think that he might _not_ be able to, having spent so much energy coping with all of the tragic changes that had been thrown at him, one after the other, over the past few years.

If he thought long and hard, he supposed it had been Margaret's illness that started it all. She'd gone from vibrant and healthy – her smile able to brighten his darkest moods – to weak and sickly in a matter of a few agonizingly short months. Alan had become a quick study in how to care for a late stage cancer patient and spent all of his time making sure she was comfortable, despite her protests that he should live his life like everything was normal. The only thing that made any of the illness bearable was the fact that his estranged eldest son finally made the journey back home to his family.

Alan would never forget the joy he felt when he saw Don's SUV pull up in the driveway – the same driveway he was looking at right now – knowing his oldest son had finally come home to his family. Don had always exuded a calm, confident demeanor which his father found delightfully contagious and was counting on to help him get through the final stage of his wife's illness. The oldest Eppes had been thrown for a loop when his son had emerged from the SUV, looking for all the world like a complete stranger – tall, lean, muscular and wearing a mask to conceal his emotions as he continuously took in his surroundings. _That can't be Donny,_ Alan had thought. _That man looks way too serious to be the same little boy I raised – the one with the happy smile and outgoing personality that all the girls longed for. This man looks too cold and detached – like he could kill or seriously injure someone._ And then it had hit him – that's exactly what his son had become. He _was_ someone who had to look at the world that way, had to be able to hurt or kill someone to protect an innocent person. The shock of the realization had stayed with him over the next few days until Don cracked a rare smile at the dinner table when his mother made a joke. From then on Alan had been confident that he could deal with that change in his life, too.

Then the most difficult thing he'd ever faced hit him head on – his wonderful, beloved wife finally succumbed to her disease. The pain had been overwhelming and it had been Don's calm presence that helped him carry on from the day Margaret died to the day he buried her. His oldest son had seemed to know exactly what to do, who to call and how to show support for his grieving father. Charlie had been a different story, but Don had always had a difficult time understanding his little brother's… _Charlieness_. Despite the tense and sometimes awkward moments, the two brothers had managed to grow closer as they collaborated on cases and eventually began spending some of their rare free time together. They'd even double-teamed him and encouraged him to part with some of Margaret's things so he could really move on with his life. He smiled as he remembered loading boxes right there in the driveway before pulling out and heading down the road, catching a glimpse in his rearview mirror of his two sons wrestling each other in the front yard. He'd been so tickled at the sight that he'd almost run into George Duncan's yard as he drove down the street.

George was another, much more recent change, too. His longtime neighbor of thirty years had passed away from a stroke a month ago. It had been a constant, sad reminder of George's death as he drove past the 'For Sale' sign in his yard on an almost daily basis. Alan had been happy when someone finally bought the place and moved in, getting rid of the sign and making the neighborhood feel whole again. He'd had every intention of stopping by and welcoming his new neighbors but then the unthinkable had happened to his oldest son.

Alan's cell phone rang loudly in the empty house, startling him from his musings. "Hello," he answered tiredly.

"Dad," Charlie's voice replied with a hint of excitement. "We've got some good news."

"Oh?" he asked half-heartedly, knowing that Charlie would be screaming for joy if they'd actually found Don.

"We have a witness who says he saw Don – _alive_ – later on the night he was abducted."

"Thank God," Alan breathed a sigh of relief. "Does he know where they took him?"

"No, he doesn't," the professor informed him. "But he gave us another lead that we're working on right now. I just wanted to keep you updated."

"Thank you, Charlie." Alan waited for his son to say something else, frowning when the silence continued to stretch on without any sign that the younger man was going to end the call. "Are you okay?"

"Does it help?"

Alan could barely hear the quiet question and had to take a moment to process the words. "Does what help?"

"Being there. Being near his room – near his things. Does it make you feel closer to him?"

"Oh," the father said in surprise. "I… I guess it does, yes."

"Megan suggested I go home for a while."

"You could work on your laptop from here," Alan suggested. "It might help you to feel closer to him, too."

"I was thinking," Charlie stated slowly. "It's silly, but… I was thinking about going to his apartment."

"I don't think that's silly at all." Alan's smile carried in his voice over the phone. "I think that's a great idea. And I bet Don will be happy to know you kept an eye on his apartment for him."

"He'll claim I just wanted to snoop through his stuff," the professor said with a weak chuckle.

_I guess change can be a **good** thing, too,_ Alan mused as he his earlier thoughts popped back up in his head, including the image of Charlie locked in a battle of wills with that hated P equation while Don grew more and more frustrated with his little brother's bizarre behavior toward their mother's death. _But Charlie's coping with this situation so well, trying to stay upbeat for both him and myself while contributing as much help as he can to the search for Don._

"Dad?" Charlie called, worry creeping into his voice at his father's prolonged silence. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I was just thinking."

"About?"

"If you do go to Don's apartment, promise me you'll stop and get something to eat along the way."

"I _am_ trying to take care of myself," Charlie promised. "I'll make sure to eat."

"I know, Charlie. It's just… think about the last time you saw Don's fridge. Beer and moldy leftovers do not constitute a meal."

Charlie's sudden burst of heartfelt laughter was the best sound Alan had heard in days.

--

"We got a hit, Charlie."

The professor looked up at her as he ended the call with his father. "Where?"

"The Wagon Wheel Gas and Grub," Megan answered. "The owner says a light blue crown Victoria with two male passengers stopped there for gas around lunchtime yesterday and paid cash."

"Credit card would have been better to trace," he muttered to himself. "Does he have security cameras?"

"No," the agent shook her head. "But he writes down the plate, model and make of every car that pays cash at his pumps. This car had Nevada plates and he gave me the number. I've got a BOLO out on it." Megan's cell rang and she quickly flipped it open. "Reeves."

"I'm at the airstrip," Marcia responded. "We found the white van from the second garage."

"Any prints?"

"No, it's been wiped down, too. We did find some tire tracks in the dirt road out here. Looks like they belong to a small to mid-size car. I'm having ERT fax a photo in to the lab for analysis."

"Have one sent here, too," Megan requested. "I want to see if Charlie can do anything with it."

"Give me ten," Marcia stated.

"Thanks." Megan disconnected the call and filled the young man in.

"I'll pull up some data I have on tire treads and possible vehicle types."

"You have that data on file?"

He shrugged. "It was for something else."

"I don't suppose you can elaborate?" Megan said with a grin.

"You're right," he apologized. "But I was able to compile a good-sized database with the information I researched. Since we already know it was a Honda, I should be able to get us a pretty accurate description of the car."

"That's great news, Charlie. I'll bring you the information as soon as it comes in." Megan took a deep breath and slowly blew it out as she headed for the fax machine. _Just stay strong, Don. We're working as fast as we can._

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Don groaned as an agonizing pull on his arms woke him from the peaceful darkness. _Why do my arms hurt so bad? My shoulders too… It's like someone lit them on fire._ He forced his eyes to open, quickly closing them again as the room swam before him. Taking a deep breath, Don repeated the action, but more slowly to allow his eyes time to adjust.

_Okay, I seem to be standing up… No, the bottoms of my feet aren't touching anything but it feels like someone's trying to cut them off._ Once his vision had stabilized, Don let his gaze trail downward, memories flooding back as he saw the heavy block tied around his ankles, the rope painfully digging into his flesh to the point it had broken the skin. _That's right – they hung me up like this so they could beat me. The baseball bats…_

A shiver ran through the agent's body as he vividly remembered the heavy blows and sharp crack as some of his ribs failed under the harsh assault. _No wonder it hurts to breathe. Right now just being awake hurts._ Every single part of his body seemed to burn with an ache so deep that it almost brought tears to his eyes. His joints were screaming at him from being stretched for such a prolonged period of time while his muscles throbbed non-stop under the darkening purple and black bruises mottling his flesh.

_Stop it!_ Don yelled at himself. _Dwelling on how bad you feel isn't helping matters any, Eppes. Why don't you think about how to get out of this mess instead?_ He actually laughed out loud at the absurdity of the thought. He was by no means a pessimist but the agent really couldn't see any possible way out of his situation. Gardenia and his boys had executed his and Colby's abductions efficiently and – if the lack of a rescue was any indication – flawlessly. Colby had been… _No, don't think about that. You have to focus on your own situation now._

Don swallowed back a wave of grief for his friend but managed to steer his thoughts back to his predicament. No matter what angle he took, escape seemed to be an impossible scenario. His captors always kept him thoroughly restrained, if not drugged, and as weak as he felt after the electric shock and beating Don doubted he could have wrestled his way past a kitten. A feeling of hopelessness began to creep into his mind, but the agent was able to banish it as he thought of the one thing that might be able to save him – _Charlie_.

As much as Don hated not being in control of his own situation, he found it almost easy to put his fate in his little brother's hands. After all, he'd seen Charlie pull leads out of thin air as he worked his complex equations and had seen the young genius work tirelessly on cases that were important to him. Don knew that his younger brother would do anything for him, so all he had to hope for now was some of that good old Charlie magic that never ceased to amaze him. _Come on, Buddy. I'm counting-_

Don was suddenly ripped from his thoughts as his body was consumed in white hot, liquid fire. All the agony from earlier seemed to fade away to a minor ache as the agent struggled against his bonds, desperately trying to arch his back away from the torturous assault. Tears fell from his eyes as the fire spread to random spots across his chest and stomach, the most intense heat pooling in the waistband of his jeans.

"Aww, did we catch the Fed off guard?" Don barely heard the taunting voice over his ragged breathing.

"Look how red his skin is," a second voice piped up as a hand roughly slapped him on the back. The contact on his skin set off another round of torment and the agent had to bite his lip to keep from screaming in pain.

"Check it out," the first voice cackled. "It got all the way around to his front, too. He's already got blisters." Even though he suspected it was coming, Don couldn't contain a moan as a finger jabbed against his burning skin.

Through a haze of pain, the injured man saw Gardenia standing in front of him. "You don't look very well at all, my friend. I've been told scalding water is quite painful. Judging by the look on your face, I'd say that's true."

_Come on, Eppes,_ Don silently berated himself._ You should be able to snap off some witty comeback._ But his mind was too clouded from pain and exhaustion, so the agent could only slump in his bonds as Gardenia peered closely at his injuries.

"I can end this, you know," the crime boss crooned. "No more pain – just a peaceful voyage to the other side. All you have to do is ask." He frowned when the injured man refused to respond. "Do you _like_ pain, Eppes? Do you _enjoy_ these sessions of ours?"

Don stared rebelliously at the crime boss as he pointedly clamped his mouth shut. _I won't give you the pleasure,_ he vowed silently.

Gardenia let out a melodramatic sigh and gestured to Jacob. "Suit yourself, my friend. We have another dose of water ready that I was hoping to spare you from. But if you continue to be stubborn, well… I have no choice."

Don saw the thug with the bucket move closer to him, his arms flexing as he prepared to pour the scalding water on him.

"Focus on his legs this time, Jacob," Gardenia ordered.

"Yes sir," the brute replied with a huge grin on his face.

Don closed his eyes and gritted his teeth but nothing could prepare him for the fire that erupted all down the front and back of his legs. His jeans became soaked and heavy, adding to the pull on his arms while holding the hot water against his skin. The increased discomfort sped up Don's respiration, his breaths shallow and ineffective as his broken ribs made their presence known. Despite his best efforts to take slow, deep breaths, his vision clouded as his brain screamed for oxygen.

"Let him down," Don barely heard Gardenia's order over the roar in his ears.

He was suddenly falling and loudly groaned in pain as the concrete floor of his prison rushed up to meet his battered body. Don awkwardly floundered on the ground as he tried to find a position to lie in that wouldn't put too much pressure on his bruises, burns or broken ribs. He had just about given up when the rope around his ankles was cut and an iron grip latched onto his arms and legs, lifting him off the ground and slinging him back onto the metal table that had become his home. The agent moaned in distress as his blistered back protested the harsh landing and it took only a few seconds for Don to realize he was being burned all over again. The agent summoned up every last ounce of strength he had and threw himself to the side, knocking over one of his captors and landing on top of him.

"What the-" the man underneath him yelled. "Get him off of me, Jacob!"

The chain between the metal bracelets around Don's wrists was wrenched backwards, igniting a fresh trail of agony in his shoulders, and he was tossed to the side as the blond man clambered to his feet. "Dumb move, Fed," Roberto growled in a dangerous tone as he towered menacingly over the injured man. "Help me get him back on the table, Jacob."

The agent had no strength left with which to fight and was helpless as the two brutes tossed him onto the table for a second time. Once again his back felt as if it were being set on fire but Don could only lie there and accept his fate as his captors set about locking the leather restraints into place.

"Damn!" Jacob suddenly swore.

"What?" Roberto snarled.

"That table's hot," the thug answered as he blew on his burned finger.

Don watched as the blond reached out and grazed his hand across the surface next to his shoulder, smiling as he felt the intense heat radiating from the metal surface. He cocked his head at the agent and leaned over him with a sinister look in his eyes. "Is that why you wanted down so bad?"

"What is it?" Gardenia inquired as he approached the table.

"It's the heater, Mister G," Jacob observed. "It heated up the table while we were gone."

"Oh my," the crime boss chuckled coldly. "That has to hurt on top of the burns you already have. Surely you're ready to say the magic words now?"

"Rot… in hell," Don panted as he clenched his eyes shut against the waves of pain coursing through his body.

"I probably will one day," the crime boss agreed. "But not any time soon. You, on the other hand… Jacob, I was going to turn the heater off until morning, being the energy conscious citizen that I am, but I've had a sudden change of heart."

"Good plan," Jacob laughed. "Wouldn't want our little friend here getting too cold tonight."

"So, Eppes," Gardenia whispered, his voice close and his hand brushing along Don's arm. "Unless you have something you want to ask me, I'll be seeing you in the morning."

As much as his entire body ached and as badly as he wanted the torture to end, Don was a stubborn man and he refused to give in to the crime boss's will. Besides, the longer he held out, the more time Charlie and his team had to find him.

"Suit yourself, my friend," Gardenia sighed as he led the two thugs from the room, switching off the lights and closing the door behind them, leaving Don alone in the dark.

Only when a few minutes had passed and he was certain they had no intentions of returning for the night, did Don allow the pain and exhaustion to break through his defenses. He tried lifting his body from the metal surface, but the waist and shoulder straps held him firmly against the source of his torment. As the heat continued to sear his already damaged skin, tears began pooling in his eyes and Don was ashamed when one broke loose and rolled down his temple to rest in his hair.

_Hurry up, Charlie,_ he begged silently. _I don't know how much longer I can do this._

--

"Megan," Charlie called excitedly as he tracked her down. "I've got it."

"The car?" she asked as she looked up from the conference table.

"Yes. I ran the tread pattern through my database and got a hit on the brand and size. Assuming our suspects haven't customized the vehicle, they're driving a Honda Civic."

"That's great Charlie," the agent replied as she jotted down the newest information.

"Did you find any cameras at the airstrip?"

"No, we didn't. It's the kind of place that's not big on security."

"So you just have the make and model?" the professor asked, disappointment written across his features. "That's it?"

"We also know the color and that it's probably an '05 or '06." Seeing the despair on his face, Megan leaned over and gripped his hand. "It may not seem like much, but it's a start, Charlie."

"I know," he whispered. "It's just… It's been so long. I can't help but think that he might be…"

"We have no evidence of that," the agent interrupted firmly. "Absolutely none."

"Right, but if he's not…" Charlie wiped at his eyes and shook his head. "Then where _is_ he? And is he okay? I mean, what if he's hurt?"

"We don't have any evidence of that either."

"We don't have any evidence, _period_," the professor hissed angrily. He quickly blinked his eyes and grabbed her hand before she could pull it away. "I didn't mean it like that. I know you're doing the best that you can. I just… I want my brother back."

"I know," Megan whispered as she enveloped the young man in hug. "Me too." She leaned back and rubbed the professor's shoulder in a soothing manner. "Tell you what, why don't you go home and get some rest? There's really not much you can do here right now. And I promise to call you if anything changes."

As much as he didn't want to leave, the young genius knew that a trip home to rest would work wonders for his mental and physical health. "Okay," he agreed. "I'll have my cell and laptop with me, so call me when you have something." After her assurances that she would, Charlie packed up his stuff, reluctantly climbed into the elevator and headed to his car.

As he pulled out of the parking garage and onto the street, Charlie was only mildly surprised to find himself headed away from his house and toward Don's apartment. He wanted to feel closer to his brother and could think of no better way to do that than to visit Don's residence. True to his promise to his father, the professor stopped at a fast food joint and grabbed a burger but only managed to eat half of it before his appetite left him.

Soon Don's building appeared up ahead and Charlie was surprised by just how much the sight lifted his spirits. He pressed down on the accelerator and within minutes he'd parked in the building's garage and was on his way up to Don's floor. When he reached his brother's door, Charlie unlocked it with shaking hands and flung it open, almost as if he expected to find Don sprawled on the couch, demanding to know why he was barging in without calling. But the couch was unoccupied and the whole apartment had a vast, empty quality to it that sent a chill down his spine. _It's like it knows he's gone,_ Charlie mused as he wandered down the short hallway.

Forcing a laugh at the ridiculous thought, the young genius went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. He noticed a handful of unwashed dishes in the sink and frowned as he realized Don had probably planned to wash them when he got home the night he was taken. As if in a trance, the professor found himself filling the sink with soap and water before carefully scrubbing each and every plate, fork and glass. He eyed them after each rinse, only setting them in the drainer to dry once he made sure there wasn't even a speck of food left on them. _Wouldn't do for Don to come home to dirty dishes,_ Charlie told himself.

Once he'd finished with that chore, he moved into Don's living room and began straightening up in there, too. He carefully stacked the mail in two piles, one opened and the other unopened, then proceeded to make sure the oldest letters were on top. Charlie straightened and fluffed cushions and even stacked up the CD cases lying by the stereo, although he didn't put them back on the shelf, knowing his brother was very particular about the order he kept them in. Once the living room looked presentable, the professor moved into Don's spare bedroom and shook his head at the unopened boxes lining the walls.

_It's been three years since you moved out here,_ Charlie thought. _I'd think you'd have unpacked by now, but your job does keep you busy. At least when you're ready to move again you won't have much packing to do. Or if Dad and I have to…_

The thought popped into his head before he could stop it and Charlie felt his knees go weak as sorrow seized his heart. He backed out of the room and stumbled into his brother's bedroom, falling on the bed and curling into a ball as waves of sorrow and guilt crashed over him. _I'm so sorry, Don,_ he sobbed silently. _I should have found you by now. You have to be okay, though. I **need** you to be okay._ Charlie blindly reached toward the head of the bed and clutched his brother's pillow, pulling it down and hugging it to his chest as he pressed his face against it. _Please, Don. I need my big brother back._

His prayers went unanswered as his cell phone remained mute and Charlie soon drifted off to sleep, where he dreamed of death and loss and life without his beloved big brother.

--

"Any word on Don?" Colby asked as David entered his hospital room.

"The helicopter pilot that flew you out of LA said Don was alive when you were taken to the airstrip."

"A lot of time has passed since then."

"Yeah," David sighed in frustration, not wanting to dwell on that fact. "How are you feeling?"

"I'll be better once you hand over whatever's in that bag you're hiding."

David grinned as he removed the bag from beneath his jacket and produced a very large burger, piled high with all of the condiments he knew his friend loved. "You owe me, man."

"Anything," Colby promised as he took a bite of the sandwich. "Just name your price."

"I will."

After a moment of silence while the injured man devoured his burger, his face lit up in joy. "The doc said they'll spring me tomorrow."

"No kidding? That's great."

"As soon as I'm out of here, I want to be on a plane and headed home."

"Home, yes. Office – no."

"Yes," Colby insisted. "Look, I was with Don when we were grabbed. For some reason I'm alive and he's still out there somewhere in God knows what condition. I want – _need_ – to help. You can understand that, right?"

"Of course I do," David nodded. "But you also need to rest so you can recover."

"I'll rest when we find Don." He stared at his friend and raised an eyebrow. "Tell me you wouldn't want the same thing if you were in my position."

"I would," his friend agreed. "Look, I'll get you to the office but if Megan has a fit, you're on your own."

"Coward," Colby teased with a grin.

"Nah," David shook his head. "More like discretion and valor and all that good stuff."

"Right," the injured agent sarcastically drawled. "Tell you what, if you've got another burger in that bag, I'll go with your story."

"What do you know, Granger?" his friend grinned as he produced another sandwich. "Looks like you're in luck."

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

"Good morning, my friend!" Hector watched as his captive's eyes fluttered open and he weakly turned his head toward the doorway. "Did you sleep comfortably last night?"

The agent narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists at his sides, too weary to vocalize his response.

"Well, I did give you a chance to avoid all of that pain, didn't I?" Gardenia gestured for his two men to examine Eppes' back. He watched as Roberto freed the restraints around the injured man's wrists only to bind them tightly in front of him. Jacob took a spare piece of rope and fashioned it into a noose, which he slid around the agent's head, tightening it to the point of discomfort while still allowing him to breathe.

"If you jump off the table again you'll hang yourself," Roberto growled in warning, undoubtedly still embarrassed at being caught off-guard the evening before.

As if to show support for his friend, Jacob gave a quick tug on the rope to cut off Don's airway for a few seconds. "I got him, Roberto."

The blond nodded and released the strap across the agent's shoulders and waist, hauling him to sit upright so his boss could examine the burns on his back. Much to his disgust, the injured man swayed unsteadily and Roberto had to hold onto his arms to keep him from falling to the floor.

"That looks so painful," Gardenia observed as he moved closer and leaned over to study the blistered flesh up close. "Tell me… does this hurt?" He reached out and raked a fingernail down the reddest part of the agent's shoulder, cackling with glee when the other man groaned in pain. "I guess that's a 'yes'."

Don closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing, almost succeeding in his attempt until Hector scraped another inflamed region of his back. A loud yell was ripped from his lungs as his eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed in Roberto's grip.

"Oh my," Hector grinned, moving to stand in front of Don. "Seems our Fed isn't nearly as tough as we thought he was. Jacob, some water if you will."

He handed the rope he was holding to Roberto and filled a bucket with water at the sink, returning to the table and raising an eyebrow at his boss. When Gardenia nodded, the bodyguard splashed the water into the agent's face, laughing as the injured man jerked back to awareness, sputtering and choking on the water running down his face.

"You didn't think you'd escape that easily, did you?" Gardenia inquired icily as he seized the agent's chin in his hand. "You don't get any relief from the pain until you say the magic words." Eppes tried to shake his head loose form his captor's grip, but Gardenia tightened it and scowled at the man before him. "One question, Eppes. That's all it will take for me to end this hell you're in."

"No." The word was faint and raspy and seemed to take an enormous effort to vocalize, but the effect on Gardenia was instantaneous.

"How _dare_ you continue to defy me!" He looked at Roberto and cocked his head toward the agent. The blond responded by driving his fist into their captive's damaged ribs, smiling as Eppes started to slump over until the noose around his neck tightened and made him struggle to stay upright.

Gardenia took a deep breath and cursed Eppes for making him lose his patience. He wanted his revenge to be a lesson in superiority and domination, but the agent refused to break under any of the torment he'd been subjected to. It was getting to the point that Hector felt his reputation was going to be damaged and his pride tarnished and he absolutely would not allow that to happen. _Time to play my ace in the hole._

"Free his feet and get him off that table," he ordered, his lips curling into a feral smile. "Blindfold and gag him and then bring him upstairs." As he watched his men obey, Hector studied the agent in disgust. "You _will_ bend to my will, Eppes. It's only a matter of time now."

--

Charlie quietly slipped through the front door of his house, not wanting to wake his father if the older man was still sleeping. After he'd dozed off at Don's apartment the night before, he hadn't woken until the morning sun was up and streaming through the window. The professor's first call had been to Megan, his despair doubling when she'd informed him there was nothing new to report on the search for his brother. He'd forced positive thoughts back into his head and torn himself away from the apartment – and the comfortable feeling of being surrounded by Don – to return to his house.

Now, as he stood in the doorway of his Craftsman home, Charlie quietly studied his father's form where he sat sleeping in his chair. The older man seemed to have aged decades in the past forty-eight hours and his entire face was lined with worry and exhaustion. The young genius stealthily made his way to the couch and sank onto the inviting cushions, feeling like a failure in his efforts to find his brother. Before he realized it, he had let out a loud, frustrated sigh which woke his father.

"Don?" Alan mumbled as his eyes slowly opened. "Donny?"

"No, Dad," Charlie answered. "It's me."

Alan nodded as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stifled a yawn. "Any word?" he asked, his tone almost fearful. "Good or bad?"

"Nothing," the professor whispered. "No hits on the BOLOs, no sightings of Gardenia or any of his men… nothing at all."

His father nodded sadly as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"I feel like I should be _doing_ something," Charlie confided. Seeing his father's pointed look, he quickly amended, "Something more substantial than praying. There's got to be some data I'm overlooking – something to narrow down the search."

"You've already contributed a great deal," his father pointed out. "You may just have to face the fact that there _isn't _anything else you can do."

"So I should give up? I don't think so."

"That's not what I meant, Charlie. It's just… I know how badly you want to help, but that doesn't mean there's actually anything you can do."

"And I hate feeling that way. Don's counted on me so much for some of his cases and the one time he needs my help, I let him down."

"Charlie," Alan said sternly. "Look at me, son." He reached out and gently lifted the younger man's chin until their eyes met. "You haven't let Don down. Not now, not ever."

"How do you know?" the professor pleaded.

"It's a father thing," the older man smiled warmly. "You're going to have to take my word."

"I don't… I don't want to sit here all day waiting for bad news."

"Neither do I."

"I need to _do_ something… anything to keep my mind from dwelling on what might be happening to him."

"I know exactly how you're feeling," Alan agreed. "How about we start with breakfast? Maybe afterward we can take a walk. You can take your cell so you'll be ready if Megan calls."

"That sounds perfect, Dad. Thanks."

--

Don winced as he tripped over a step, setting off a throbbing pain in his abused body. The noose around his neck tightened as Jacob grew impatient with his unsteady gait. _Take the blindfold off, moron,_ he thought bitterly. _I could walk a heck of a lot better if I could see where we were going._ His silent rant was cut short as Roberto harshly shoved him forward, making sure his hand struck as much of the agent's burned skin as possible. The pain from the contact almost dropped Don to his knees but the threat of having his airway cut off kept him moving.

The injured man almost fell again as he lifted his foot high enough to clear the next step only to find the floor had leveled out. Jacob gave another firm tug on the rope around his neck and Don sped up his pace as much as possible to avoid being choked, trying to ignore the throbbing in his strained muscles as they protested such quick movements. _Where are we going? What can he do to me up here that he couldn't do to me downstairs?_

"On your knees," a voice commanded.

Don hesitated. _On my-_

"I said on your knees!" the voice yelled angrily, accompanied by kick to the back of Don's legs.

The agent dropped like a stone, blindly flailing his bound hands as he attempted to break his fall. A loud crack sounded and a sharp pain radiated up from his left wrist as he landed hard on the ground, curling into a ball and panting against the agony in his body. He barely had time to take a deep breath before he was scrambling into a kneeling position to avoid be strangled by the noose.

"So, my friend," Gardenia spoke conversationally. "We've arrived at that crucial moment. It's time for you to ask me to kill you. Are you ready?"

The gag in his mouth kept him from speaking but Don had no problem shaking his head. He'd be damned if he would ever give in to the madman bent on destroying him.

"Roberto?"

Don heard the thug's heavy footsteps as they crossed the room followed by the sound of window blinds being drawn back. He flinched as fingers brushed across his face, slipping under his blindfold and sliding it off of his eyes. The agent squinted in the sudden brightness to find Gardenia standing in front of him and leaning down so their faces were on the same level.

"I just wanted to let you know that I have enjoyed the past day with you, my friend," the crime boss said with a predatory grin. "I've enjoyed seeing you in pain, knowing I'm the one causing it and that you're helpless to stop me. But I did mean what I told you before – you _will_ ask me to kill you."

The agent defiantly lifted his head and glared at Gardenia.

"Yes, yes, you're a tough guy," he said dismissively. "But… here's what I'm interested in knowing: how tough are you when it comes to your family?"

Don's stomach knotted in fear as he listened to the other man's words. _He couldn't… Charlie and Dad? He doesn't have them… does he?_

"I can see the concern – the fear – in your eyes. You care for them very deeply, don't you? You might want to brace yourself then." Gardenia stepped to the side and Don found himself staring through the large living room window to a familiar house across the street. "You do recognize it, don't you?"

_No,_ Don's blood ran cold. _It can't be…_

"That's the front yard you spent so many years playing in as a child, isn't it?" the crime boss inquired. "And the little blue car in the driveway… your brother's, right? And I believe the one next to it belongs to your father."

_No, no, no, no…_

"Are you going to answer me or do I need to go over there and ask them myself?"

Don frantically shook his head at the idea of Gardenia that close to his family.

"Alright then. So that is your brother's house?"

Don closed his eyes and weakly nodded as defeat crushed his soul.

"Oh, I see. And since their cars are in the driveway, I assume they're both home. Maybe I should ask them over and show them some of my hospitality. What do you think?"

Don shook his head, lowering his eyes to the floor in shame as he realized what he had to do.

"No?" Gardenia calmly asked as one of his thugs untied Don's gag. "Hmm. Then perhaps there is something you want to ask me?"

Swallowing against the bile rising in his throat, Don slowly looked up and met the crime boss's gaze. "Kill…" his rough voice gave out and he licked his parched lips before trying again. "Kill me instead."

"Now, now," Gardenia said, his voice laced with disappointment. "I don't believe that was what I wanted to hear."

"_Me_," Don repeated desperately. "Not them."

"Listen to me very closely," the crime boss said in a dangerous voice. "You say what I told you to or I'll have Roberto and Jacob go over there and drag you family into my basement." Don's eyes widened in fear, so Gardenia pressed on. "How long do you thing your brother would survive a beating like you received? And your father's an old man – the cattle prod would be stressful on his heart, no?"

"Not them," the agent shook his head.

"I'll leave them alone if you give me what I want."

Every fiber of his being screamed at him not to give in, but Don couldn't let his family be hurt because of him. He swallowed what little pride he had left and, silently apologizing to his brother and father, forced himself to say the words. "Would you… please… kill me now?"

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** I've read many different takes on the age difference between Charlie and Don. I'm going with a 5-6 year age gap, depending on how their birthdays fall.

Hector Gardenia hummed to himself as he climbed the stairs to the second floor, aware that his two men were right behind him with a nonresistant Eppes in tow. He was only mildly disappointed that he hadn't managed to break the agent by physical punishment alone, but that was why he'd chosen this particular house to begin with. He knew that, if all else failed, the mere hint of harming the old man and professor across the street would break Eppes' powerful will.

_Of course that's not the only reason I chose this location,_ Hector grinned as he led the other men into the master bedroom and to the walk-in closet. The crime boss reached out and felt along the back wall until his hand bumped into a well-concealed flap in the paneling, which he lifted to reveal a handle and combination lock. He spun the dial to the correct positions and then pulled the heavy door open, revealing hidden vault just large enough for a grown man to stand in. It was three feet deep and ran the width of the closet – about five feet – although a lot of that space was filled with sturdy metal shelving.

"What do you think of it, Eppes?" Hector asked as he turned to face the injured man. "The previous owner was some sort of collector – coins, I think. He had this vault installed and customized – airtight to protect his valuables and hidden in the back half of his closet, invisible to the naked eye. I only found out about it when the realtor mentioned it and even _then_ I had a hard time locating it." He placed his hands on the agent's shoulders and looked him square in the eye. "They won't find your body for years, if ever."

He gave a nod and watched as Roberto and Jacob crammed Eppes into the small space, his smile widening as the agent remained resigned to his fate. When the two men stepped back, Gardenia gestured to the shelves along the walls of the makeshift tomb. "I didn't want you to feel all alone so I took the liberty of making sure you're reminded of me while your lungs are slowly starved for oxygen. You like?"

The bound man looked around him, frowning at the countless number of large, heavily scented gardenias that filled the shelves, in some places sticking out so much that the leaves brushed against his skin. He closed his eyes and let his head thump against the wall in resignation as Gardenia took a picture of him, wanting to capture the sweet moment of victory on film.

"There's only a few hours of air in here, probably four or five as bad of shape as you're in," Hector informed his captive, his voice parodying concern. "But don't worry – we'll stay nearby until we're sure you've passed." Hector placed one hand on the heavy door, waving with the other. "Good bye, Special Agent Eppes."

Gardenia swung the door closed and gave the dial a couple of good spins before turning to his men and smiling cheerfully. "Let's enjoy breakfast while we wait. Tonight we'll stop on our way back to Miami and have that steak dinner I've promised you both."

"Sounds great, Mister G," Roberto nodded as he and Jacob followed their boss from the room.

--

"Wow," Alan remarked as he looked at his son's empty plate. "You ate it all."

"I guess I was hungrier than I thought."

"Obviously," the older man chuckled. "But what I meant was that you don't even _like_ pancakes. I was surprised you wanted me to fix them."

"Don's favorite," Charlie replied softly. "Somehow it seemed right that we have them for breakfast."

"I guess so," his father agreed as he carried the empty plates to the kitchen. "Say, did I ever tell you just how much Don likes pancakes?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, let's see," Alan thought aloud as he returned to the dining room. "I guess you were two so he would have been around eight. He adored you, he really did, but he was having a difficult time adjusting to life with a new baby brother. After you've been the only child it's hard to watch your parents spend so much time with another child."

"Especially as much time as I took," the professor mumbled.

"No, Charlie," Alan stated firmly. "You're brother never held that against you. Maybe against your mother and me for a while, but never you. Besides, this was before we knew we had a genius on our hands. No, he was just tired of sharing the spotlight and, in his typical Don fashion, he decided he could tough it out on his own."

"At eight years old?" the younger man shook his head. "That does sound like Don."

"Yes, he was dead set on it. Your mother and I found him sneaking down the stairs with his prized possessions packed in his baseball bag. I was beyond upset and about to start yelling when your mother placed her hand on my arm, shook her head and winked. 'Let me,' she whispered. So I stepped back and watched as she proceeded to tell him he could run away if he wanted to-"

"_What?_"

"That's what I was thinking, but I loved and trusted your mother, so I kept my mouth shut. Anyway, after she told him that, she tells him it's a shame he's leaving because she's just cooked a whole stack of pancakes and now she'll have to throw them away. His little face crumpled at the thought of trashing his favorite breakfast food so Don sets his bag down and tells her he'll stay long enough to eat."

"How thoughtful of him," Charlie grinned.

"So she loads up a plate full of pancakes, sets out the butter and syrup for him, and the turns to feed you your cold cereal. He asks her why you're not eating pancakes too, so she gives him that dazzling smile of hers and says, 'Charlie doesn't like pancakes, Donny. I made them just for you.'"

"Go Mom."

"Yeah," Alan smiled sadly. "She could always get inside his head better than I could. It's exactly what the doctor ordered too, because Don flung himself into her arms and started telling her how much he loved her and how he didn't really want to run away. The part that really got to me was when he asked her, his little voice trembling with uncertainty, if he could still stay at home with us."

"Oh, Don," the professor breathed. "He thought you'd make him go?"

"Apparently," his father replied, his voice thick with emotion. "But then Margaret told him that he could always stay with his family, no matter how old or how far from home he'd traveled. He never ran away from home again after that."

"Until college," Charlie remarked.

"I suppose so," the older man responded. "But the lesson must have stuck with him, because he did come home again. And, if his almost nightly visits are any indication, he truly understands that this is his home." Alan sighed as the two men lapsed into a pensive silence, shaking his head in frustration as the disturbing images of what might be happening to his missing son returned to plague his thoughts. "How about that walk?" he asked suddenly, cringing at how loud his voice sounded in the quiet of the house.

"Sure. I think the fresh air could do us both a world of good."

"Absolutely," his father nodded. _Although nothing is going to help if we don't find your brother soon. Please Donny, find your way home this time, too._

--

_I should never have let myself get caught,_ Don told himself as he blinked in the darkness of his surroundings. _If I had just paid more attention to what was going on around me… insisted we follow up on that card I got ten months ago… things could be different right now. But no, I had to be a tough guy and look where it got me. Not to mention Charlie and Dad were in danger again all because of me. At least that won't happen now._

He shifted his weight, trying to find a position where his blistered back didn't press against the wall of his prison and the plant leaves didn't irritate his sensitive skin. The longer he sat cramped on the floor, the worse his body seemed to throb all over. He had an intense desire to look at his watch but his captors had relieved him of that sometime between grabbing him and letting him wake up. For some reason he had the insane notion that this might be easier if he could keep track of the seconds as they slowly ticked away.

_Dying like this is hard – too much time to think, to wonder 'what if', to realize how much more you wanted to do with your life. I always thought it would be a bullet or on-the-job attack that took me out. Nice and quick. No muss, no fuss. Not like this – alone in the dark, drowning in the sickening scent of those horrible flowers, waiting for the pain to fade as my air supply is used up._

Don bit back a sudden sob, knowing the he needed to breathe as calmly as possible in order to fend off death for just a little while longer…

_For what?_ he despaired. _No one's coming. No one in a million years – not even a genius like Charlie – would think to look for me in a house across the street from my family. I just hope Charlie and Dad will be okay when I'm gone._

Images of his family warmed Don's heart and he clung to the thought of seeing them again – no matter how slim it was – like a drowning man to a life preserver. He could see it now – they would envelop him in their loving embrace, soothing away his fear and pain in any way they could. His father would stay by his side, reading the paper, talking to him and holding his hand against whatever nightmares assaulted him in his sleep. Charlie would be there, too, a little less certain in his vigil but keenly attuned to his big brother's every sound and move in order to detect and eliminate any hint of discomfort before it became too bad.

_Of course I'd have to make it out of here first,_ the agent mused as he remained alone in the silent, dark interior of his makeshift tomb. With his vision impaired by the total darkness, his other senses were heightened to nearly unbearable levels. He could smell the cloying scent of gardenia; taste it on the air when he breathed; hear the sound of his heart pounding in his own ears; feel the ache of every bruise, burn, and broken bone in his body. Don idly wondered if this – waiting to die – wasn't the cruelest act of the many that Gardenia had committed against him.

_No matter,_ he thought dejectedly. _Cruelest or not, it's going to be the last thing he ever does to me._ That thought broke through the dam holding Don's grief at bay and tears formed in his eyes. As the first one rolled down his cheek, Don realized he was too weak, exhausted, and depressed to wipe it away, choosing instead to close his eyes and surrender himself to his fate.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

"Looks like it might storm soon," Charlie observed as he and his father strolled along the sidewalk.

"Yes," Alan agreed. "Looks like those thunderheads are still deciding whether to let loose a torrential rain or blow over and let the sun shine through."

"Quite the metaphor for us right now," the professor remarked. "I'm hoping for sunshine all around."

"It's been almost three days now, Charlie."

"I know."

"We haven't had _any_ news in almost a full day."

"Dad… I know."

"Charlie," the older man spoke quietly, keeping his gaze on the path ahead of them. "I don't know what I'll do if we don't find him. It was bad enough to outlive your mother but to outlive your child? No parent should ever go through that."

The genius merely nodded, at a loss for any words to soothe his father.

"I'm not giving up on him," Alan added forcefully. "Not at all. Your brother is the strongest person I know."

"He is," Charlie agreed.

"It's just… I have this ache in my heart that won't go away and I'm afraid if I don't talk about it, it'll be my undoing."

"I feel the same way. But remember, we're in this together, no matter what. Even if the unthinkable happens, we still have each other. That's what Don would want."

"God, I miss him, Charlie."

"Me too, Dad."

The two men continued in silence as they completed their tour around the block. As they returned to their street, Charlie cocked his head and gestured at a house across from them. "George Duncan's house finally sold?"

"A couple of weeks ago," Alan shook his head. "I swear, for a genius, your observational skills are somewhat lacking."

Charlie suddenly stopped as he studied the neighboring house. "Have you met the buyers yet?"

"I was going to go say hello but I was busy on a project and then Don went missing." Alan stopped, too, looking at the mixture of excitement and dread on his son's face. "What is it?"

"That's a red Honda," the professor said thoughtfully.

"In the driveway? Yes it is."

"A Civic."

"Why this sudden interest in cars?" his father inquired.

"Would you say that's an '05 or '06?"

"I suppose it could be," Alan shrugged. "What's gotten into you?"

"The car that took Don from the airstrip was a late model red Honda Civic."

"What? And you think… Charlie, that's just-"

"There's another car parked in the backyard," the professor interrupted. "You can just see the front of it."

"Yes," Alan said as he squinted in the direction his son was facing. "It looks a lot like a police car except for the color."

"Gardenia was seen leaving Las Vegas in a car just like that. I have the plate number memorized." The professor stepped off of the sidewalk, intent on crossing the road.

"Whoa!" the older man exclaimed, grabbing his son's arm. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Like I said, I have the plate number memorized. It'll only take a minute to go back there and check it out."

"Absolutely not," his father insisted. "If this is Gardenia, what do you think he'll do if he catches you back there snooping around?"

"What if Don's inside?" Charlie hissed angrily. "You want to just wait around until they kill him?"

"No," Alan replied with as much patience as he could muster. "But you brought your cell phone with you – call Megan and tell her what's going on."

"Good idea," the younger man mumbled in embarrassment as he pulled out his cell. His fingers shaking with adrenaline, Charlie pressed the speed dial for Megan's phone and impatiently waited for her to answer.

--

"We got a problem," Joey whispered in Roberto's ear.

"What?"

"There's a couple of guys standing across the street and staring over here at us."

The blond moved to the front window and moved the blinds just enough to see the two men Joey was talking about. "That's his brother and father."

"Whose?"

"Eppes, you moron," the bigger man snapped impatiently. "How long have they been out there?"

"About five minutes."

"Damn, his brother's making a call on his cell."

"They can't know about us, though, right?" Joey asked nervously. "I mean… I wiped the van, we dumped the other Fed in Houston… how can they know we're here?"

"The professor over there – Eppes' brother – is some kind of genius. I guess he found something we left behind."

"Mister G isn't going to be happy about this."

"You think, Joey?" Roberto snorted in disgust. "Keep an eye on them and let me know if you see even a hint of cops coming." He left the redhead at the window and hurried through the house until he reached the den in the back where Gardenia and Jacob were discussing the gang's status in Miami. "Mister G."

"Yes, Roberto?"

"I think Eppes' family made us."

"Tell me you're making a very distasteful joke."

"No sir, I'm not. I think his brother may be calling the Feds."

"Then go deal with him."

"No can do," Roberto shook his head. "It's broad daylight out there and that street is full of traffic."

"Did you just refuse an order?" Gardenia angrily demanded.

"Only because it's too risky. We need to leave now."

"I'm not going anywhere until Eppes is dead."

"Fine," the blond nodded. "Let me put a bullet in his brain and we can get going."

"No, I want him to die slowly," the crime boss argued. "Nothing so quick and merciful as a bullet to the head."

"If his brother is on the phone to the Feds we may only have a few minutes to get out of here. Mister G, you have to listen to me."

"Roberto," Gardenia growled in warning. "You're dangerously close to being insubordinate. I'd hate to have Jacob here have to deal with you." The bodyguard glared warningly at Roberto, daring the blond to give him a reason to attack. "Now, for the last time, take care of the problem across the street. We'll leave when Eppes is dead and not a minute sooner."

--

"Hey, Granger," Megan smiled warmly at her friend as he slowly entered the bullpen. "Good to see you again."

"It's good to see you, too," he grinned as he dropped into his chair. "Any word on Don?"

"No, unfortunately not," the female agent informed him. "How's the shoulder?"

"Not bad."

Megan looked at David and raised an eyebrow. "I take it you worked your way on to an earlier flight?"

"No big deal," he shrugged. "I showed the ticket girl my badge and flashed my pearly whites-"

"Whatever," Colby cut him off. "It was my poor, pitiful, puppy dog eyes that did it."

"You two," Megan chuckled as she shook her head. "I've missed you both around here the past few days. It's great to have you back. Although…" She frowned at Colby. "I'm pretty sure you're supposed to resting at home, not hanging out at the office."

"It's Don," the injured man objected. "Do you really expect me to wait at home?"

"No, I guess not."

"Where are we so far?" David inquired as he sat at his desk.

"We've got the BOLOs out but we haven't had any hits. I've got Gardenia's and his goons' pictures out to every law enforcement agency that works in LA but nothing's come of that either." Her cell rang and Megan checked the ID, her face lighting up. "It's Charlie," she told her friends as she answered. "What's up?"

"I think I found them."

"Gardenia?"

"Yes. Well, the two cars he's been linked to."

"That's wonderful, Charlie! Where do I need to look?"

"They're parked in the driveway across the street from us."

"Say that again?" Megan repeated doubtfully.

"Look, I know it sounds crazy, but there's a Civic in the driveway and I can just make out the front of a light blue Crown Victoria in the back yard."

"Charlie, I really doubt-"

"It's them," the professor cut her off angrily. "Would you like me to run down the probability of those two cars being at the same residence independent of our investigation? Because that will take time that Don doesn't have."

"Of course not," the agent responded, doubt still evident in her voice.

"Better yet, why don't I just run across the street and into the backyard so I can confirm the plate number?"

"No, Charlie! Don't you dare!"

"Fine," the professor relented. "But only if you promise to get down here ASAP."

"Agreed," she told him. "But _promise_ me you're going to stay put."

"I-" Charlie's voice was cut short by three loud bangs in the background.

"Charlie?" Megan frantically called, certain the noises had been gunshots. Her only reply was a loud burst of static flowed by complete silence as the line went dead.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

"Are you okay?" a breathless Alan asked from where he lay on the ground behind a hedge.

"Yeah," Charlie nodded. "You?"

"This old body wasn't made to hit the ground like that, but yeah, I'm okay."

"I lost my cell," he informed his father. Peering through an opening in the hedge, he saw it lying in the middle of the street. "Found it." He groaned as a car appeared, smashing the device under its right front tire. "It's toast now."

"Were those gunshots?" his father asked as he crawled closer to his son.

"Yes," the professor replied.

The certainty with which Charlie spoke unnerved his father, but Alan knew his son had been to the gun range at least once with Don and had been shot at in the FBI office. He quickly pushed that troubling memory from his mind so he could better focus on _this_ troubling matter. "Were they shooting at us?"

"I don't know, but I don't think so. We were standing there practically wearing bull's-eyes. I doubt they'd have missed."

"Then they were shooting _inside_ the house? Oh God… Donny."

"No," Charlie choked out. "We don't know that for sure either."

Both father and son grew silent as a large blond man and a smaller redhead bolted from the house and climbed into the red Honda. Alan held his breath as the car backed out of the driveway and tore down the residential street, leaving behind an eerie, unsettling feeling. "Megan's on her way, right?"

"She said she was coming. And I'm pretty sure she heard the shots fired before I lost the phone, so she should be here in a hurry."

"So we wait," Alan frowned, his fatherly instincts telling him to run across the street and find his son.

"It _is_ pretty quiet now," Charlie remarked. "They might have been the only two in there."

"You've seen that monster's picture," his father growled. "Were either one of those men Gardenia?"

"No."

"So he could still be in there."

"There's one sure way to find out," the professor replied, turning and meeting his father's desperate gaze with one of his own.

"Megan will kill us."

"Only if we live," Charlie said dryly.

"Good point." Alan paused as he studied his son, seeing the same ache and need that he felt reflected in the younger man's eyes. "Alright then, let's do it."

Before the two men could carry out their plan, a loud siren pierced the air and an LAPD squad car, lights flashing, screeched to a halt directly in front of them. Two uniformed cops exited the car and pulled the Eppes to crouch behind the relative safety of their vehicle.

"Alan and Charlie Eppes?" the taller of the two men inquired.

"Yes, that's us," Alan nodded.

"I'm Sergeant Whitmore, LAPD," he introduced himself. "My partner Officer Michaels. We got a call from an Agent Reeves who said we were to get here and keep you two from, um… 'doing anything foolish', I believe were her words."

"But my brother-"

"Yes sir," Whitmore gently cut him off. "She told me what was going on. She's on her way over here now. Tell me what happened – is either one of you hurt?"

"No," Charlie answered. "Someone fired a couple of shots but we weren't hit. Two men just left the house in a hurry about ten minutes ago."

"Were they armed?"

"I honestly couldn't tell," the professor admitted. "But I did catch the plate number."

Alan's eye widened as he realized his youngest son had been level-headed enough to catch such a detail even while they had been fearing for their lives. _I guess Donny really is rubbing off on him._

"Thanks, Professor Eppes," Alan heard Whitmore say as he jotted something on a notepad. "I'll get this added to the BOLO."

A series of sirens wailed in the distance as two black SUVs and an ambulance roared toward them. As the vehicles came to a halt, Megan and David leaped out of the lead SUV and rushed to join the men behind the squad car.

"Thank God you're okay," Megan smiled in relief. "I was worried for a minute there."

"Us too," Alan told her.

"They saw two men fleeing the house about ten minutes ago." Whitmore caught her up to speed.

"Gardenia wasn't with them," Charlie added.

"He came out here with three men that we know of," she thought aloud. "So he and one other could still be inside." She shook her head in frustration and clicked her radio button. "Marcia, what's the ETA for HRT?"

"Still about twenty minutes out," she answered.

"That's too long," Charlie told her. "Don may need help now."

"How soon could you have SWAT out here?" Megan asked Whitmore.

"They're in the middle of another situation across town. Even if they can part with some of their men, it'll take more than twenty for them to get here."

"Donny needs help now," Alan insisted. "Please, Megan."

"I know," the female agent sighed. Turning back to Whitmore she asked, "No one's taken any shots since you've been here?"

"No ma'am."

"Okay then, we'll make our move without HRT. David, make sure our agents are geared up and ready to go in. Sergeant Whitmore, take the Eppes back inside their house and make sure they stay safe."

"Wait just a minute," Charlie started to protest.

"No. You will wait inside your house where I know you're safe. Once we clear the house and hopefully find Don, I'll have you brought over right away." The younger man opened his mouth so Megan gave him a firm look. "No arguments, Charlie."

He reluctantly agreed and Alan looped an arm over his shoulder as he looked at Megan. "Be careful," he whispered. "And find my son."

"I'll do my best," the agent promised him.

--

David stood with Agents Tate and Mercer at the back door of the house, waiting for Megan to give the signal to enter. With as little intel as they had, they were basically falling back on the tried and true 'team one enters through the front and sweeps left while team two enters from the back and sweeps right'. Once they cleared the ground level floor, they would determine what approach to take to search the remaining floors.

"Team two check in," Megan's voice radioed.

"Team two in position," he replied.

"Execute!"

He stood back as Mercer swung a battering ram into the heavy door, knocking it wide open. David immediately took point, stepping through the doorway and covering high while the Tate crouched and covered low. Mercer tossed the battering ram aside and inched through the doorway, keeping his eyes on the left side of the room.

"Kitchen's clear," David radioed as he cocked his head to the right. The three agents silently crossed the small kitchen and lined up alongside the entryway to the dining room. David cautiously poked his head around the doorframe and peered inside. His heart dropped as he saw a large bloodstain splashed on the hardwood floor. "We've got blood in here."

"Roger," Megan answered. "Our side is clear. We're headed your way." David waited for what seemed like an eternity before his friend radioed again. "We're in position at the second doorway. I can see at least one body – not Don's."

_Thank God,_ David blew out a deep breath. "Waiting for your go."

"Looks clear," she told him. "Move in nice and slow."

He silently crept forward, comforted by the presence of the two agents at his back. As he reached the small table in the center of the room, he made certain there was no other way in or out and that there were no hiding places where a gunman might conceal himself. "Clear," he announced, lowering his gun but keeping it in his hand with the safety off.

"We've got two bodies over here," Megan informed him, copying his movements. "One unknown suspect, gunshot wound to the head, deceased." She bent down and studied the second man's face. "Well I'll be," she mumbled. "It's Gardenia."

"Dead?" David warily asked.

"Oh yeah. Two shots to the chest – right over the heart."

"And you're positive it's him?"

"I memorized his face the day Don got that card," she assured him. "He's not going to be a problem for us any more."

"That's a relief. So what on earth went down here?"

"No idea. Maybe his men turned on him? Whatever the case, Don's got to be around here somewhere."

"Agent Sinclair," Mercer called. "I think you should take a look at this."

David joined the other agent at the table and followed his gaze to where two photographs were resting on the wooden surface. "Oh God," he breathed, feeling like someone had just punched him in the stomach.

"What is it?" Megan demanded.

"He took pictures," he said in disbelief. "These are pictures of Don."

"Can you tell where he is?"

David forced himself to study the two photos, his heart breaking at the look of intense fear on Don's face in one and the battered appearance of his body in the other. "It's like a before and after," he observed. "He's strapped onto a table in the first. The wall behind him looks like basic cinderblock. A basement maybe?"

"And the other?"

"A small room full of… that SOB. He put him in a room with a bunch of those flowers."

"What kind of room?" Megan pressed.

"Small with a bunch of shelves. A closet maybe?"

"Okay," she nodded. "You and your team check out the basement and we'll check upstairs."

David nodded, handing Megan the 'after' picture while he hung on to the 'before' picture. He led his agents toward the basement door, switching on the light and carefully making his way down the steep stairs. As they reached the bottom, David could barely hold back a shocked gasp at the makeshift torture chamber. The table his friend had been tied to stood against the far wall, the leather restraints still in place along the metal surface. David's gaze continued around the room, landing on a cart covered with rope, bloodstained metal restraints, two stained wooden baseball bats and a cattle prod. He had had an idea from Don's condition in the 'after' picture that he'd been injured, but the severity of the abuse hadn't hit home until just now.

"Those animals," Mercer quietly growled.

David nodded mutely, his eyes still roaming around the room and coming to rest on a bloodstained rope tied to a concrete block. "Megan," he radioed as his sense returned to him in a sudden rush. "He's not down here any more."

"He's not up here, either. We've checked every room, every closet, every inch of space."

"He has to be here somewhere."

"I agree but I don't know where else to look. Nothing we've seen looks like the room in that picture."

"Maybe it's not a room," David thought aloud. "It's a small space full of shelves. Look at the walls and tell me what you see."

"I can barely see the walls because of the flowers," she remarked. "But now that you mention it, the walls look almost… metal?"

"A vault. What if there is a vault somewhere in this house?"

"But where? We haven't seen one."

"If it was a security feature it would be hidden, right?"

"Makes sense," Megan agreed. "But how does that help us?"

"There'd only be so many places you could fit something like that. And I bet someone with years of experience as a city planner and architect would know just where to look."

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Alan nervously followed Sergeant Whitmore into Duncan's old house, a very worried Charlie right on his heels. Megan and David were waiting in the living room, standing just in front of a large window that faced the Eppes' home.

"You didn't find him?" Alan asked despondently.

"No," Megan replied. "We have an idea where he might be but we need your expertise to help find him."

"Come again?"

"We think Gardenia locked him in a vault somewhere inside this house but we don't know where it is," David clarified. "We're hoping you might have some ideas where a vault might be located."

"How big are we talking?"

"Not very," Megan told him. Her eyes flitted nervously between David and the older Eppes. "We have a picture of it but… it's going to be hard for you to look at."

"If it'll help find Don then I don't care," Alan assured them. "Let me see it." He took a small photograph from Megan's hand and almost fell as his knees buckled.

"Dad!" Charlie cried in alarm, gripping his father from behind and steadying him.

"Donny," the older man whispered, running his fingers across his oldest son's image. "What did they do to you?"

"I know he looks bad, Alan," David spoke up. "But we really need you to look past that and tell us about the vault."

"Of course," he nodded, subtly wiping at his eyes. "Well, using Donny as a reference, the room looks to be wide enough for him to lie in but not long enough for him to stretch out – maybe four or five feet. The way he's sitting up, no room to move from side to side… about three feet, I'd say. The camera angle is no good for determining height."

"How heavy would something like that be?" Megan queried. "Would it have to be directly on the ground?"

"No, not if you reinforced the floor beneath it. Come to think of it… George used to collect coins."

"George?" David asked.

"Sorry," Alan shook his head. "He's the man who used to own this house but he died a couple of months ago. Anyway, I bet he installed the vault to protect his collection – his pride and joy."

"So he would probably want to keep them nearby," Megan mused. "Second floor, near where he sleeps?"

"Sounds about right," Alan agreed as he headed for the stairs. He was surprisingly spry as he led the agents and Charlie up the stairs, pausing only to determine which room was the master bedroom before continuing on. He threw open the closet doors and scanned the wood paneling along the back. "I don't see anything out of place."

"We couldn't find anything either," Megan stated.

"Hold on," the older man mumbled as he raced from the room and into the neighboring bedroom. Walking along the wall, Alan's expert eye took rough measurements before he moved on to the next bedroom. He walked along its walls for a minute before letting out a triumphant cry. "It _is_ in the closet!" he yelled excitedly as he rushed back to the master bedroom.

"How do you know?"

Alan brushed passed Megan as she spoke, his hands running along the wooden paneling. "The other rooms, the way the floor plan is laid out, there's almost exactly a three by five foot area missing. It has to be part of this closet." As he felt closer to the floor, his hand brushed over a rough edge. "I think I've got it." Alan slid a finger under the edge and tugged it away, his heart leaping for joy when it revealed a lock and a handle. "Here it is!"

"Combination lock," David growled.

"I could figure out the combination but it's going to take some time," Charlie stated.

"No, if this thing is airtight, Don might already be too low on oxygen," Megan pointed out as she clicked her radio on. "Marcia, did HRT arrive yet?"

"Yes ma'am," the agent radioed back.

"Tell them they need to get up here and blow a lock for us, ASAP."

"Will do."

"Blow it up?" Charlie asked in a panic. "What if Don is right behind the door?"

"It's the fastest way to get that door open and I think that has to be our main concern right now." Megan cupped her hands against the door and yelled, "Don! If you can hear us, you have to move away from the door! Away from the sound of my voice, Don!" She looked over her shoulder at the two Eppes men who nodded in approval.

"Let's just hope he heard you," Alan said quietly.

--

Don jerked awake, his eyes opening to the pitch black of his tomb as he panted for oxygen. His lungs burned as it grew harder to breathe in the thinning air of the vault, smothered by the heavy scent of gardenias. _I must have passed out, _he mused._ Why'd I wake up again?_

Before he could process another thought, an invisible force slammed against him, crushing his chest and squeezing what little air he had from his lungs. A loud noise assaulted his hearing and he fearfully raised his hands to protect his face, uncertain of the intent behind this latest attack. _I already gave in. What more does he want?_

The door across from Don opened, allowing bright light to stream in and blind him. He could just make out large silhouettes coming toward him before his eyes slammed shut against the sudden brightness. Hands were on his arms, lifting and dragging him from the stifling interior of the vault. He was gently laid down on the floor and presence of fresh air reminded him that he'd been without it for quite a while. Don greedily sucked in the oxygen as fast as he could despite the protest in his broken ribs. His vision was still graying around the edges so the hand that materialized on his forehead caused him to choke in surprise.

"Easy, Donny. Nice, deep breaths."

_Dad? Is that you? No! I sacrificed myself to spare you. You shouldn't be here right now!_

"Go," he wheezed painfully, weakly batting at the hand on his head with his own bound hands. "Not… safe."

"Shh," his father's voice soothed. "You're safe now."

"We've got you, Don."

_Charlie, too? No, this can't be happening – he said he wouldn't hurt you. _"Said… leave… 'lone."

"We're not going anywhere, Donny, okay? Just calm down and let us take care of you."

His father's tone was so soft and soothing but Don couldn't relax, not while his family might be in danger. "Go," he pleaded again, the desperation in his voice made all the more poignant by the tears that pooled his eyes. _I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you._

"Gardenia is dead, son. No one's going to hurt you any more."

_Dead? You're not just saying that to make me feel better?_ "Real?" the injured man panted.

"For real this time."

_Megan's voice,_ Don thought. _If she's here then my family really is okay._ "Good," he whispered.

The hand on his forehead moved to stroke through his hair as his father spoke again. "See, son? Everything's okay now. Just take some nice, deep breaths. Can you open our eyes for me?"

_I didn't realize they were closed._ It took a Herculean effort, but Don managed to grant his father's request. He was rewarded by the older man's warm smile as he leaned over him. Sliding his eyes to the side, the agent saw his younger brother studying him with concern.

"Can we get something to cut the rope off his wrists?" Charlie asked, smiling thankfully as one of the SWAT guys produced a combat knife and handed it to him. He carefully cut through the bindings until he'd freed Don's hands, sucking in a breath at the raw, bloody marks left behind and the deep, angry bruising on the agent's left wrist. He handed the knife back to its owner and slipped his hand into his brother's right one. "Where are the paramedics?" Charlie inquired, his compassionate eyes never straying from the injured man's face.

"They're coming in the house right now."

_David's voice,_ Don thought, too weak to turn and look._ My team is here too. Except…_ "Colby?"

"He was shot but he's okay," David answered. "He's already out of the hospital."

The last of Don's tension and worry melted away as he verified his family and team were both fine. Unfortunately as the adrenaline wore off, the pain returned full force, especially where his burned back pressed against the hard floor. The agent uncomfortably shifted, trying to relieve the pressure by rolling to his side. He groaned as a hand pinned him to the floor.

"Stay still, Donny. Help's coming."

"Hurts," Don whispered as he stared pleadingly at his father. "Back."

"Your back?" Charlie repeated. Don weakly nodded as he continued to struggle against the hand on his shoulder. "Hold his head." The agent felt his father's hands shift to cradle his head as Charlie slowly grabbed his hip and shoulder, carefully easing him onto his side. "My God… Don?"

He could sense the younger man staring in horror and his abused back and sought to ease Charlie's concern. "…'S better… now," he wheezed, letting his head sag in his father's gentle hands.

"What did they do to you?" the professor wondered aloud, his voice heavy with sorrow.

"Not… 'portant."

There were heavy footsteps as new people entered the room and Don watched his father move away from him as unfamiliar hands replaced his and Charlie's, one pair slipping a mask over his nose and mouth. "Dad?" he called weakly, his voice muffled and afraid.

"Charlie and I are still here," Alan promised from a position out of his son's line of sight. "Let the medics do their job, son."

"…'Kay." Don closed his eyes as well-meaning hands rolled him onto his back and began gently prodding his bruised flesh, stirring up the agony that rested just below the surface. Despite his best efforts, the agent let out several low moans as the medics examined the worst of his injuries. As the exam progressed, Don grew restless and tried to shift away from the torturous, probing hands.

"Sir," a gentle yet firm voice called to him. "You need to hold still."

"You're hurting him!" Alan hissed from his position in the room. "Can't you give him something?"

"Not until the ER doc checks him out," the voice countered.

"Dad," Don wheezed through the pain. _Please make it stop…_

There were more footsteps, some grumbled protests, but then his father's hand was back in his hair. "I've got you, Donny. Lie still for me, okay?"

The injured man nodded, focusing every bit of his concentration on that soothing hand running through his hair instead of the probing touches on his abused body. It seemed highly unlikely his father's presence could actually dull the agony of the medics' exam, but Don _was_ feeling less pain with his father so close to him. _He's probably giving them that glare he used to use on me and Chuck when we were kids,_ Don thought happily._ Always scared me straight._

The medic moved his hand to feel along Don's ribs and the agent let out a loud gasp as his fingers found one of the broken ribs.

"Easy," Alan's voice crooned, his free hand cupping his son's undamaged cheek. "Just a little longer."

Don shakily nodded, in too much pain to speak.

"Okay," the medic announced. "We're going to get you up on the stretcher now. I promise it'll feel better on your back than that floor does." A strong set of arms slid under his while a firm grip wrapped around his lower legs and then for one disorienting moment he was suspended in the air only to be set down onto the stretcher with the utmost care. Despite the softness of the surface beneath him, Don's back still protested the contact and a loud grunt slip past his lips.

"You're doing great, Donny." Alan's voice was very close to his head and the gentle hand was threading through his hair again.

He smiled to let his father know that he'd heard him as the medics secured him to the stretcher with a series of nylon straps. Suddenly Don was back in the basement being strapped down to the dreaded metal table for another torture session. His breathing became erratic and he unconsciously bucked against the straps, trying to free himself from his captors. _No, not again!_

"Sir!"

"Donny!"

The voices that were yelling at him seemed to be miles away – too far to be of any help. He continued to struggle until two strong hands gripped his face and forced him to focus on the figure leaning over him.

"Donny, it's me! It's Dad, son."

His struggling eased as his father's worried visage came into focus. "Dad?"

"Yes, Donny," his father's distraught voice answered. "You need to calm down, son. You're safe, remember?"

"Safe," he whispered, his eyes darting around the room. "…'M safe."

"That's right," his father crooned as he stroked his thumb across his son's cheek. "No one's going to hurt you again."

Don gave an almost imperceptible nod, exhausted after the terrifying flashback, and barely flinched as a needle slid into the back of his hand.

"I've got the IV in," the medic who'd been calling to him stated. "Let's get going."

"I'm coming with you," Alan announced in a tone that brooked no argument.

"I was kind of hoping you would," the medic replied. "He responds to you quite well."

"Years of practice," the older man lightly teased. "Can Charlie catch a ride with you?"

"Of course," Don heard Megan answer. "We'll be right behind you."

"Thanks." His father's face leaned close to his ear and a strong, compassionate grip wrapped around Don's uninjured wrist. "Remember, Donny, I'm going to be with you the whole way."

His father's promise wrapped around him like a soft blanket, keeping him warm and safe for the journey ahead.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

_Sixty-two hours,_ Charlie mused as he checked his watch. His brother had been kidnapped sixty-two hours ago. It had been two hours ago that they'd found him, which meant that for sixty hours Don had been in the hands of those madmen, probably thinking… The professor quickly shook his head, refusing to let his thoughts wander down that road. _The present – I have to concentrate on the present. Don's safe now and those animals can't do anything else to him._ Images of his brother's body flooded his mind – bruises from being beaten, raw skin from being bound for prolonged periods of time, burns from God knew what...

"Charlie?" Megan's soft voice called. "You okay?"

He realized he'd been clenching his fists so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. Charlie consciously relaxed his grip, wincing as he realized his nails had dug into his palms enough to draw blood. "I was just thinking."

Her hand slid over his and squeezed. "Try not to think of _that_."

"That?" he repeated dryly. "You're a mind reader now?"

"It says 'behaviorist' on my job title," she retorted. "Besides, I'm pretty sure we're both thinking the same thing."

"I don't want to but I can't help it. Those images are burned into my brain. To think of what Don went through to cause those injuries…" A chill ran down his spine and he wrapped his arms around himself.

"But we got him back, Charlie," Megan quietly reminded him. "He's alive because of you." Doubt still lingered on the professor's face, so she began hammering home her points. "You're the reason we were able to find the plate number for the Crown Vic and the reason we were able to get a make and model from the tire tracks at the airstrip. Not to mention _you're_ the one that spotted the cars across the street from your house." She smiled and gave him a friendly nudge with her shoulder. "If I hadn't sent LAPD over in a hurry, you'd have been the one to break into that house, too."

"Yeah," he sheepishly nodded. "Dad and I kind of had this plan-"

"No details, please," the agent waved her hands. "I'm just glad you didn't get a chance to carry it out or Don would have killed me."

Charlie managed a weak grin before returning his attention to his watch. "They sure are taking a long time."

"They're being thorough, Charlie. That's a good thing."

"I guess. But what… what if there's a complication or something?"

Megan placed an arm around his shoulders and hugged him close. "You need to have faith in your big brother to come through this for you. Don't worry over something that hasn't happened yet, okay?"

"I can't believe they actually call that a cafeteria," Alan grumbled as approached them, David bringing up the rear. "Here, Charlie – this is the most edible-looking thing I could find."

The younger man suspiciously eyed the plastic wrapped sandwich his father was holding out to him. "I don't know about that."

"Just take it," Alan ordered him. "We don't know how long we may be here and I'm sure it tastes better than it looks."

"If I'm about to starve to death," the professor muttered under his breath as he finally accepted the food. "Thanks, Dad."

"Any word yet?" the older man inquired as he took a seat next to his son, indicating that David should sit with them, too.

"Nothing," Megan answered.

Charlie asked "How was he on the ride over here?"

"You saw him at the house," his father said shortly. "He was in agony the entire way and all I could do was hold his hand and tell him everything was going to be okay."

"I'm sure he appreciated that," Megan smiled encouragingly.

"Maybe, but it felt like I was trying to fix a broken arm with a band-aid. Every time we hit a bump or a pothole, Donny would fight like crazy to keep from crying out." He sighed and shook his head. "He's my son – my child, my flesh and blood – and all I could do was just sit there and watch the pain as it got worse."

"You did what you could," she soothed. "Don't beat yourself up over something you can't change. That's not what Don needs to hear right now."

"Of course," the older man nodded wisely. "I just wish they'd hurry up so we can see him. That's what will help me the most – seeing Donny and knowing that he really _is_ safe."

"You're right," Charlie agreed. "I want him right beside me where I can keep an eye on him at all times." He glanced at his watch, frowning as they approached hour sixty-three.

"Here comes the doctor," David spoke up as he gestured to a middle aged man with wise eyes and a warm smile. "Looks like he's got good news."

A brief conversation followed, during which Charlie only managed to pick out certain words – burns, dehydration, broken ribs, compromised breathing, exhaustion – as he eagerly awaited for the ones he wanted to hear. He fought the urge to glance at his watch again as his father tossed out an occasional question for the doctor to answer. It wasn't that Charlie didn't care, but all he wanted right then was to see his big brother. Everything else could be gleaned later on – either from the duty nurse, Don's chart, or the doctor when he stopped by for a follow-up visit.

_Come on, Dad. Give the man a chance to tell us we can go see Don._

Charlie chewed on a fingernail as the physician rattled off some more details, the tone of his voice changing as he reached the end of his explanation. The professor silently cheered when his father didn't probe any further and the doctor finally said the words he'd been waiting to hear.

"Shall I take you to see him now?"

It was all the professor could do not to bowl the doctor over in excitement. Instead, he forced himself to walk slowly behind his father and Don's physician as they walked through the doors and into the hallway beyond. At the last minute he noticed Megan and David weren't following them. He made a comment about it, earning him a disapproving frown from his father.

"The doctor said Don's on morphine for the pain, Charlie. He probably won't be lucid until sometime tomorrow."

"Oh," the younger man blushed in embarrassment. _Okay, maybe I **should** have been paying closer attention._

"He's just inside here," the doctor – Charlie was horrified as he realized he didn't even remember his name – stated as he stopped outside of a private room. "If you have any questions, the nurse on duty is Becky. Feel free to ask her." The middle aged man gave a friendly wave as he left father and son standing outside the room.

"Let's go see your brother," Alan whispered as he pushed the door open.

_Sixty-three hours,_ Charlie smiled as he stepped into the room. _I finally have my brother back after sixty-three of the longest hours of my life._

--

_My poor boy,_ Alan lamented as he studied his oldest son's face. There was a dark, angry bruise marring his right cheek and making the skin around it seem even paler than usual in comparison. Don had received his share of black eyes and bruises when he was little, whether it had been on the wrong end of a line drive in baseball or a fist when he was protecting his brother, but this bruise was different – more sinister and disturbing. This injury hadn't been caused by a recreational activity or a childhood bully. No, this bruise had been inflicted for the sheer sake of _hurting_ his son and the thought made Alan ache with sorrow.

Don's fingers twitched in his grip, drawing his father's attention to the long, graceful digits. The older man soothingly caressed the hand in his as his gaze was drawn to the angry red mark encircling his son's wrist, knowing Don's left wrist and both ankles bore similar marks. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about what those injuries meant – that his son had been tightly tied up, helpless at the hands of his abductors. Of course Alan had gotten a taste of that when he saw Don react so violently to being strapped down on the stretcher by the paramedics.

The man on the bed let out a muffled noise as his he turned his head to the side to face his father. Alan gazed at him expectantly, waiting to see if his son's eyes would open and was momentarily disappointed when they didn't. _Just as well,_ he thought. _You need to rest and I have no idea how bad the pain would be if you woke up right now._ The older man reached out and rested his hand on Don's short, dark hair, his fingers gently stroking the soft strands as he watched his son sleep.

"I hope he's not having bad dreams," Charlie spoke in a soft whisper.

Alan looked at his youngest son, smiling as he saw the young genius holding Don's other hand in an identical fashion. "I hope not, too. Letting him know that we're with him should help."

Charlie nodded and, maintaining his grip on his brother's fingers, moved his other hand to rest on Don's upper arm, massaging gently through the thin hospital gown. "God, it's good to have him back."

"I know." Alan's fingers stilled in the dark hair as he studied his youngest son in the dim light of the hospital room. The young genius had dark circles under his eyes and he seemed reluctant to tear his gaze away from the injured man for even a second. "He's going to be fine, Charlie."

"Of course he is."

"I mean it. The doctor said he'd make a complete recovery. I know you weren't listening earlier-"

"Two broken ribs, fractured wrist, second-degree burns on twenty percent of his TBSA, first-degree burns on both legs, blistering across his chest and extensive, deep bruising on his anterior and posterior torso."

"Okay, maybe you _were_ listening."

"No, I read his chart while you were dozing earlier," the professor confessed.

"Oh, I see. But still, Charlie – he's going to be fine."

"Long, painful recovery. The burns alone can take ten days to three weeks to heal."

"But they will heal. You have to remember that because you're going to have to be strong for Don while he works to get better. I know you can do it."

"And emotionally?" the younger man asked, his voice as light as a feather. "What about that?"

"Emotionally?"

"I was there too, Dad. I saw how he reacted to the paramedics. He was _terrified_ and I've never seen Don like that before."

"He'll have to work out some psychological issues but he can do that. He's a strong man and he'll have two very supportive family members there for him, in addition to a lot of concerned friends."

"I guess it will help that we _know_ Gardenia's dead this time."

"Thank God." Alan sucked in a breath, shocked that the words had come from his mouth. He'd always prided himself on being a man of peace and reason – not vengeance – and was amazed at the nature of his feelings toward the man who had inflicted so much suffering on his son. _I guess there's an exception for everything,_ he mused as he tightly squeezed the hand in his.

"Dad?"

He looked up to see Charlie studying him with a concerned expression and realized he must have been zoned out for a few minutes. "I'm fine."

"You're sure?"

"Positive," the older man said with a reassuring smile.

"Okay," the professor nodded, though his tone remained doubtful.

"Excuse me," a quiet voice spoke as a petite nurse slipped into the room. "Visiting hours are over now."

"Oh," Alan replied as he peeked at his watch. "I guess I lost track of the time."

"I don't want to leave him," Charlie said sadly.

"You're welcome to come back tomorrow morning at ten," she told him, moving to the bedside to check on her patient. As she leaned over to check his IV, Don stirred and moaned in distress.

"Don?" Charlie called as he stood up from his chair.

Alan asked "Is he in pain?"

"He shouldn't be," she said with a shake of her head. "The morphine is still in his system." She leaned closer to him and frowned as he moaned again, his breathing becoming labored and erratic.

"Donny?" Alan called, his hand moving to cup his son's cheek. "What's wrong, son?"

"Agent Eppes?" the nurse asked as she shook his shoulder.

"No," Don groaned, violently twisting away from the woman and crying out as his body protested. "Help."

"Shh," his father soothed, his hands moving along his son's body, hoping the contact would ease the injured man's distress.

"Can't breathe…"

"You're okay," Charlie promised his brother. "You're safe."

"Charlie? No, not hurt… family."

"Don!" the nurse yelled sharply. "I need you to wake up now!"

"Come on, Donny," his father pleaded. "You can do it."

"Family safe," Don panted as he tried to twist farther away from the nurse. "Have… keep safe." His breathing became even shallower as he fought for air. The nurse started to slip an oxygen mask on his face but the weakened agent fought back until his father's hands pinned him to the bed, allowing the woman to complete her task.

"Calm down, Donny," he soothed, his heart breaking at the desperation on his son's face. "Just breathe for me."

"Oh God," Charlie breathed in shock as he stared at the nurse. "Your perfume…"

"We don't wear perfume on duty," she corrected him.

"There's a scent… shampoo? Soap? What kind do you use?"

"What-"

"Tell me!" Charlie demanded as he seized her arm.

"Just regular shampoo," she replied shakily. "And gardenia-scented soap."

"Gard… You have to leave the room," Charlie told her as his brother renewed his struggle to escape from the bed.

"But he needs help," she argued.

"Get another nurse," the professor informed her. "It's the scent that's upsetting him."

"But why-"

"Trust me," he begged. "Just go!"

She reluctantly nodded and exited the room, leaving Charlie and Alan alone with Don. They spent the next couple of minutes whispering to him, promising him that he was safe – no longer in the horrible vault – and peppering him with soothing touches everywhere they could in an effort to calm him down. Whether their words had the desired effect or Don was simply too exhausted from his struggles, he did finally allow his family to settle him back onto the bed but refused to let them leave his side.

"Is there a problem?"

Alan and Charlie looked back to see Don's doctor standing in the doorway with a scowl on his face.

"She smelled like…" Charlie trailed off as he glanced at his brother's heavy-lidded eyes. He wasn't about to say the dreaded 'g' word while Don was already so upset. "That smell – he can't be around it. Please make sure your staff knows that."

"Is that why she was going on and on about her soap?" the physician inquired. "Because it smelled like-"

"Don't say it," Alan cut him off. "Please don't say it."

_Oh,_ the doctor mouthed silently. "All right then, gentlemen, I'll make sure the nursing staff knows to avoid that particular scent. I'll also make sure my head nurse is clear in this regard and have her monitor Don the rest of the night. This won't happen again, I assure you."

"Thank you," Alan and Charlie said in unison as the doctor left them.

"Dad?"

The quiet word drew Alan's attention back to the bed and he was surprised to see his oldest son's brown eyes, clouded with confusion and full of worry, staring up at him. "I'm here, Donny. So is your brother."

"Right here," Charlie added as he leaned into Don's line of sight.

"Really… safe?"

"We're really safe," his father promised as he remembered what Don had said when he first woke up. "And you are too."

"…'S good." The injured man allowed his eyes to close as he surrendered to the pull of the drugs in his system.

Alan collapsed back into his chair, wrapped his hand around Don's and nodded for Charlie to have a seat as well.

"Visiting hours," the younger reminded him as he obediently sat down. "They wanted us to leave."

"That's not going to happen," his father informed him. "Not after that episode they put him through. We're staying tonight."

"Right," Charlie confirmed. "We're not leaving his side."

"Sounds good to me." They looked up and saw a woman in her sixties entering the room, an apologetic smile on her face. "I'm Wanda, the head nurse. I'm so sorry about what happened to your son. I've addressed the issue with the staff and I assure you it won't be a problem in the future."

"So you're not kicking us out?" Charlie inquired.

"Visiting hours are pretty strict but given what Don has been through – both before and during his stay here – I decided to make an exception."

"Thank you, Wanda," Alan smiled. "You've made this old man very happy."

"Let me just check a few things before I leave you three alone." She moved to her patient's bed and checked his vitals, recording them in a chart and nodding with approval. "Doesn't look like he's any worse the wear considering what just happened," she observed as she removed his oxygen mask. "Do you have any questions for me?"

"No, not right now," the older man replied.

"Well I'll be around if you change your mind. In fact, I'll be coming in here on a regular basis so I don't think you two will be getting much sleep."

"I wasn't planning on sleeping anyway," Alan assured her. "And my youngest there can sleep through anything."

"Not _anything_," Charlie grumbled in protest.

Alan just rolled his eyes and shrugged at Wanda. "Kids today, huh?"

"I've got three of my own – two sons and a daughter."

"Oh boy, here we go," the professor groaned, shaking his head. "The 'we should have had a sister' spiel."

"If you'll behave I'll spare you," his father shot back.

"You have a deal, father dearest."

Wanda chuckled at their antics as she patted Alan on the shoulder. "I'll see you two in a couple of hours, okay?"

"Count on it," the older man nodded.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

Roberto guided the black Toyota pickup to the side of the dark, deserted road and killed the engine. He had made a vehicle switch about five miles from the Eppes' neighborhood, certain the genius professor would have noticed the plate number on the Honda. Now, as the truck sat silent and unmoving, Roberto turned to his companion and studied him in the dim interior light.

"How're you holding up, Joey? You still feeling nervous?"

"Nah, Roberto. You were right. Mister G, he… he was obsessed. He'd have gotten us all caught and snitched on the crew in a second."

"You really think that?"

"Yeah, man."

"Why?" the blond demanded. "Because I said it?"

"No," Joey shook his head. "Because it's the truth."

"So when I tell the Rubiac crew what went down – that the _Feds_ killed Jacob and Gardenia – you got my back?"

"I promise."

"That's good, Joey." Roberto leaned closer to the redhead and lifted his lip in a sneer. "But just in case you're lying to me, I want to point something out. You are what we in the business call a 'loose end'."

"Nah, man. My lips are sealed."

"Still, when I assess my personal risk, you are a danger to me. So I wanted you to know I put a little insurance plan in place."

"Huh?" Joey asked nervously.

"Take a look at your cell's call log – a number you called yesterday evening." He watched as the redhead scrolled through his phone menus, finding the number and frowning in confusion. "That's a five minute call to the LA office of the FBI."

"What? But I didn't…"

"Of course not," Roberto shrugged. "I did."

"You tipped the Feds?" Joey asked in disbelief.

"No, but I figured if something bad went down it'd be nice if it looked like someone might have called them. Five minutes… long enough to have the operator tracking down an obscure filing clerk for a family emergency or long enough to tip off the agents where one of their own is being held. I know which one I'd lean toward if I were the crew back in Miami."

"So," the redhead gulped nervously. "You rat me out if I try to squeal?"

"See?" Roberto laughed coldly. "I always did tell Gardenia that you were a bright kid. Now that we understand each other, let's get back to Miami ASAP. I want to break the news to the crew and get back to work."

--

The return to awareness was slow and confusing for Don. He was lost in a nightmare world where he was alone in the dark, suffering terribly and trying to breathe through the stifling scent of those terrible flowers. _I'm still in the vault,_ he thought despondently. _The rescue… I only dreamed it._ He fought down a sob as he tried not to think about the absolute darkness surrounding him. _I could have sworn someone came for me. Yes, someone was touching me and telling me I was safe. Someone… Dad?_

"I'm here, Donny."

_Dad? But I thought…_

"Shh." The voice was soft and gentle, accompanied by a soothing warmth on his cheek. "You're okay."

_It really is you. Now if I could just open my eyes and see for myself._

"You're finally going to wake up for me?" His father's voice was full of delight.

_Trying, Dad. Gotta figure out how to unglue my eyelids first._

"He's waking up?"

_Charlie,_ Don smiled inwardly. _Okay, now I have to get my eyes open. I want to see my family._

"Trying to." He could hear the smile in his father's voice. "Isn't that right, Don?"

"Hurry up, bro," the professor teased. "We've been waiting an entire day."

_No pressure, huh guys?_ Don concentrated really hard and eventually managed to get his eyelids open a slit. Thankfully the lighting in the room wasn't too bright and he soon had his eyes wide open, although he had to wait on his vision to come into focus.

"There's my boy," Alan greeted him cheerfully. "How are you feeling?"

_How am I feeling?_ Don took a quick mental inventory and was pleased when he didn't detect any pain. "Not… bad."

"That's good," his father smiled.

"Thirsty?" Charlie inquired as he held up a plastic mug of water.

"Yes," Don croaked, his thirst suddenly asserting itself from out of the blue. He let his younger brother slide the straw into his parted mouth and winced as he felt a tug of discomfort along his bottom lip. After he'd drank his fill and motioned for Charlie to take the water back, Don ran his tongue across the roughness the straw had snagged on.

"Careful of those stitches," his father cautioned him. "You bit through your lip."

_Wonder when I did that?_ It came rushing back then – memories of white hot fire as his body tried to fly apart. He'd clamped his mouth shut, refusing to give his captor's the pleasure of hearing his screams, and wound up tearing the delicate flesh between his clenched teeth.

"Easy, Donny." His father's fingers were stroking his jaw and Don realized he'd been worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. "You're okay now."

"Right," the agent shakily nodded, still trying to shake off the horrible memories.

"It really is over now," Charlie promised, his voice strong and confident. "That animal is dead and we're all safe."

"Good," the injured man said as he sought out his brother's hand and gripped it tightly in his. "Couldn't live… something happen… you and Dad."

"That goes for you, too," the younger man reminded him.

"That's right," his father agreed. "You got that, Don?"

"Got it," he said with a small smile. He noticed Charlie was intently studying him and raised an eyebrow. "What… so interesting?"

"Oh," the professor blushed. "I was just making sure you didn't look like you were in any pain."

The agent flashed back to his time in the vault when he'd been longing for his family. _Sure enough, Charlie's watching me like a hawk so he can be sure I'm not hurting. _Don glanced at his father, smiling as he saw the carefully folded newspaper in his lap. _And there's Dad holding my hand and watching over me._ "Predictable," Don chuckled.

"Who is?" his brother inquired.

"You two." Don's smile broadened as he relaxed in the comfort of their presence.

"Oh really?" his father challenged. "And I suppose that's a bad thing?"

"No," Don shook his head as he met the older man's questioning look with a grateful expression. "Not at all." He winced and shifted as a sharp stab of pain asserted itself in his back.

"Don?" Charlie inquired.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not," the professor called his bluff. "The morphine's starting to wear off."

"Know-it-all," Don muttered as he tried to roll onto his side, hoping the shift in position would keep the awakening throb in his back from getting too intense. He soon discovered that he was too weak to complete the simple task and sagged back to the mattress with a frustrated sigh.

"Let me," Charlie offered as he stepped closer to the bed and gently slipped his hands under his brother's shoulders. His father moved to help, gently grabbing Don's hip and helping to roll his oldest son onto his side. Once he was settled, the agent felt his brother carefully untangling and repositioning the various wires and tubing connected to his body while his father straightened his hospital gown and blankets.

"Thanks," Don whispered, letting his eyes close as he relished the feeling of being so cared for.

"That's what we're here for," his father quietly reminded him.

"Does that position feel better?" his younger brother queried. "If not we can try something else."

"This is perfect, Buddy." Don wasn't lying, either – his back wasn't pressing against anything, he was lying on the side without the broken ribs and his uninjured cheek resting on the pillow. Not to mention, he was surrounded by the love of his family, confident that they would be there to support him for as long as he needed. A pang of guilt shot through him – _you're supposed to be **their** rock, Eppes_ – but he quickly smothered the annoying voice and let himself relax completely, deciding for once in his life he could let himself be taken care of. A contented sigh slipped past his lips as he settled even further into his pillow, sleepily smiling when his father's hand latched back onto his.

"I was going to say get some sleep," the older man laughed softly. "But I believe you've beaten me to the punch. I'm still going to claim this as a victory – Don Eppes listening to his father."

"Funny," the injured man breathed.

"Hey, that's the way I saw it go down," Charlie teased.

"Et tu, Brute?"

"Latin?" the professor chuckled. "You know, bro, you're impressive when you're coming down from a morphine high."

"Hush, Charlie," Alan scolded, but Don could hear the levity in his voice. "Let your brother sleep. He's going to be fighting to get out of this bed soon enough."

"Count on it," Don whispered with determination as he slipped into a peaceful slumber.

--

"Knock, knock," Megan called as she rapped on the door to Don's hospital room.

"Come on in," her boss answered.

"Long time, no see," she beamed as she took in the injured man's worn appearance. He was lying on his side facing the door and a watchful Charlie hovered by his bedside. "I hope you don't mind – I brought company"

Don's weary face lit up as David and Colby trailed the female agent into the room. "Hey guys. Colby – great to see you. How's the arm?"

"It's good," he answered, casting a disgusted look at the sling. "I don't even see why I have to wear this thing any more."

"Because the doctor said I could kick your butt if you didn't," David warned him.

"As if."

"See what I have to put up with when you're not in the office?" Megan rolled her eyes. "Hurry up and get back soon."

"I'll do my best," Don nodded and she was alarmed at how much effort it seemed to take.

"Deep breaths, Don," Charlie ordered.

"I'm fine."

"Right," the professor sighed. "That's why you sound like you just ran a marathon in your bed. Your doctor said you needed to do deep breathing exercises every hour."

"Later," the injured agent snapped and Megan watched as Charlie's face fell. "We've got company now."

"Fine, it's your health."

"We could step outside for a few minutes," Megan suggested, seeking to ease the tension between the brothers.

"Won't cure his stubbornness."

"Or his pushiness," Don shot back.

"It's because I _care_ about you," the professor growled. "Get that through your thick head."

The injured man's frustration melted at way at Charlie's words and he gave the younger man a rueful smile. "I know you do, Buddy. After they leave I'll do the exercises. I promise."

"Okay," the genius nodded, seemingly content with the compromise. "I suppose since this is official business I have to wait outside?"

"Please," Don nodded and Megan knew that it wasn't a security clearance issue, but rather that he didn't want Charlie to hear the details of his captivity. The younger man smiled and touched his brother's shoulder to let him know he understood. "Thanks, Buddy."

"Let me know when you're done," he told David, giving Megan an icy glare as he left the room.

_The card,_ she sighed. _I knew this would be coming once we got Don back. Might as well face the music._ "Hey," she whispered to David. "Can you handle this while I talk to Charlie?"

"No problem."

"Thanks." Megan slipped through the door and carefully pulled it shut behind her. For a moment she was worried that the young genius had gone on a walk to cool his anger, but she knew he wouldn't be straying that far from his brother's side any time soon. She swept her gaze up and down the hallway, finally spotting Charlie in the alcove at the end of the hall, sitting on a plush sofa. Megan quietly joined him in the small room, sinking onto an empty chair across from him and fixing a rueful smile on her face. "Hey."

Charlie glanced at her but remained silent.

"Did you talk your father into going home for a while?"

"He wanted to grab a shower and a change of clothes."

"That's a good idea," she agreed, lapsing into silence as she decided to let Charlie direct the flow of the conversation.

It took a minute but he finally spoke, his voice cool and hard. "Shouldn't you be interviewing Don?"

"No, David's going to handle that."

"Can't stand to hear what Don went through? You feel too guilty knowing you could have stopped this?"

"Charlie, I understand you're angry-"

"You're right, I'm angry," he hissed. "You and Don both ignored the threat behind that card and kept it to yourselves. Don't you think Dad and I had a right to know?"

"We were trying to protect you," she explained. "He didn't want you to live in fear for his safety."

"Yeah, well… he never worries enough about himself. That's why I would think his team, especially his second in command, would really look out for him."

"I did try," Megan countered. "We took the card to forensics, tried to open up an investigation, but we got shut down."

"You should have tried harder," Charlie responded, only most of his anger seemed to have dissipated.

"I feel that way sometimes, too," she admitted.

"Look, I'm sorry I'm taking all of my anger out on you. It's just… I _can't_ be mad at Don. I mean, he's already been through enough."

"I know," Megan smiled. "I'm more than glad to be the one you vent at."

"Yes, but you don't deserve it, not really. I _am_ sorry, Megan."

"Don't worry about it," the agent shook her head. "Just go whip your brother back in shape. We miss him at the office."

"I'm working on it," Charlie promised. "You know what they say though… you can lead a _mule_ to water…"

"Right," she laughed. "Let's go see if David and Colby have finished up."

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

Alan slipped into Don's hospital room, a smile lighting up his face as he found both of his boys fast asleep. He stopped at his oldest son's bedside and studied his sleeping features, making sure Don didn't seem to be in any pain. Once he was sure his injured son was resting comfortably, Alan moved to the recliner that held Charlie's contorted form. _He's going to wake up in more pain than Donny,_ the older man thought with a shake of his head. "Charlie," he whispered as he patted the young man's shoulder.

The professor muttered softly and shrugged his shoulder from beneath his father's touch.

"Charlie," his father repeated more forcefully but still quietly enough not to wake Don.

"No class," the genius mumbled grouchily.

"Charles Edward Eppes, you wake up this minute."

"What?" The curly haired man dragged his eyes open and took a minute to focus on his father. "Why'd you wake me…?" He trailed off as an expression of fear appeared on his face. "Is Don okay?"

"He's fine," Alan quickly promised, easing the alarm in his son's brown eyes. "Sleeping like a baby."

"And yet I don't see you waking _him_ up," Charlie groused as he sat up straighter in the chair. "Ow," he said as he rubbed at his neck.

"That's why I woke you up," his father sighed as he watched the younger man massage the kink in his neck. "You know, they call it a 'recliner' for a reason."

"Very funny." Charlie stood up and stretched, blushing in embarrassment as his back popped loudly in the quiet room. At his father's raised eyebrow, he sheepishly shrugged. "Live and learn?"

"Somehow I doubt it," Alan responded dryly. "How's your brother been doing since I've been gone?"

"The breathing exercises caused him quite a bit of pain. I should have realized he needed more medication before I pushed him into doing them. I was just so distracted when Megan and David and Colby came by to visit."

"I missed his team?" the older man asked with disappointment. "How's Colby doing?"

"He looks pretty good, all things considered. He's still wearing a sling but he's well enough that Megan and David both seemed ready to kill him." Charlie grinned and laughed loud enough that his father shushed him so he wouldn't wake Don. "Sorry, but it's just so funny to watch those three together. Not to mention highly reassuring that things seem to be creeping back toward normal."

Alan nodded in agreement as he turned his attention to his oldest son, worried what effect his team's visit might have had on his mental state. "This was an official visit?"

"Yeah," the professor answered. "Don wanted me to leave the room so I did. Part of me appreciates that he's trying to protect me from what happened to him, but the other part wants to know exactly what he went through. Like somehow I could make it better for him if I knew all the details." He quietly peeked at his father's solemn expression, now turned on him instead of Don. "Sounds stupid, right?"

"Not at all." Alan handed his son the car keys and rolled his eyes as Charlie pointedly ignored the significance of the action. "Charlie, we had a deal."

"I know, but… I don't want to leave him."

"You need a break from this place; Lord knows I did." Seeing the resolve on his son's face start to crumble, the older man made one last argument. "Don will understand. He understood when I left, right?"

"Fine," the professor reluctantly grumbled. "I'll go." He moved to stand next to his sleeping brother and lightly stroked his forearm as he quietly whispered, "I'll be back soon."

"Not 'till shower," Don mumbled sleepily as he opened his eyes. "No offense, but you stink."

"Now there's gratitude," Charlie shot back in a playful tone. He frowned as his brother's right hand grabbed his and gave him a hard squeeze.

"Am too grateful," the agent said with conviction. "Don't ever forget that, Buddy."

"I won't, Don," Charlie promised in a voice thick with emotion. He cleared his throat as he freed his hand and tenderly rested it on the side of his brother's head. "Be good for Dad until I get back, okay?"

"Aren't I always?" the injured man inquired with a mischievous grin on his face.

"Right," Charlie snorted. "What was I thinking? I'll see you in a while."

Once Charlie left the room, Alan pulled the recliner closer to the bed and wearily sank into it as he studied Don. "How are you feeling?"

"Still pretty tired."

"Then go back to sleep, son. I'll be here when you wake up."

Don smiled at his father and let his eyes close, quickly falling into a deep slumber. Alan reached out and turned off the light over the bed before covering his son's hand with his own. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, Alan smiled and watched his son sleep. It wasn't too long before the comfortable darkness of the room and the knowledge that his son was safe from harm had him following Don into a much needed sleep.

"I won't."

The two words barely penetrated the sleepy fog that clouded Alan's mind. _I guess I fell asleep. I wonder how long?_

"Hurts… can't."

_Is that Don's voice?_ Alan wondered as he yawned and tried to force himself fully awake.

"Not hurt them." The agent's breathing hitched and his next words chilled his father's soul. "Kill me."

"Donny!" the older man cried out as he shook of the cobwebs of sleep and bolted to his son's side. He'd been terrified that Don was in pain and calling for help but quickly realized that his son was having a nightmare. The realization did nothing to calm his racing heart. "Donny, wake up!"

"Dark," the injured man said with a sound that could almost be classified as a sob. "Hard… breathe."

"Shh," Alan soothed as he threaded his fingers through his son's dark strands. "Wake up for me, son. You're having a bad dream." _Or a bad memory,_ he despaired. He had been afraid the 'official visit' would stir up some unpleasant ones for his son. "Come on… open your eyes for me."

"Can't breathe… so dark."

"Donny," the older man begged as he leaned close and touched his son's uninjured cheek. "You're safe now, son. Please wake up for me."

"Dad?" The one word was so full of need and confusion that Alan barely contained a sob of his own.

"Yes, it's me. Come on," he crooned. "Come back to me."

Don's eyes fluttered open and grew wide as the darkness from his dream followed him into wakefulness. "No," he moaned as he tossed his head. "Still dark."

Alan mentally kicked himself as he fumbled for the light switch. "You're okay, son. I'm getting the light."

"Dark," he repeated, his voice shaking with fear. "The smell…" Don suddenly twisted on the bed, coming to rest on his back and awaking the agony in his scalded flesh. He tried to arch his back off the bed but was too weak, collapsing hard onto the mattress and eliciting another cry of pain.

"I'm here," his father promised as he finally managed to get the light on. _This isn't just a nightmare or memory – this is a full scale flashback._ "You're not in that vault any more, Donny. Open your eyes – there's light now."

"Want my family…"

"Dad's here," Alan promised his firstborn. "Please open your eyes and look at me."

Don's eyes snapped open and slammed shut against the bright light overhead. "Dad?"

"Yes," the older man whispered as he smoothed his son's hair. It pained him to think that his oldest son had been left to die alone in that horrible vault, needing his family so badly but thinking that he would never see them again.

"Where's here?"

"The hospital, Donny. We found you and brought you here yesterday." The older man paused as Don's brown orbs made another, slower appearance. "Do you remember now?"

"Hospital," the agent said as he worried the stitches in his bottom lip. "I… yeah."

"Good." Alan reached out and gently held a finger to the injured man's mouth. "You've got to leave those stitches alone. How am I going to get a daughter-in-law and grandchildren if you don't let that lip heal?"

Don laughed nervously and forced a small grin onto his face. "That's what Charlie's for."

"Funny, he said the exact same thing about you the other day." He began to relax as his son's breathing grew easier. "Feeling better now?"

"I'm sorry," the agent mumbled in embarrassment as he avoided his father's gaze. "I shouldn't have flipped out like that."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Alan stated firmly as he slid his hand down to Don's chin, lifting his face so their eyes could meet. "You've been through a horrible experience and you're still recovering. I just want you to know that your brother and I are here for you, no matter what you need."

"I know. Thanks, Dad." Don winced and shifted his shoulder in discomfort against the bed. "Could you…?"

"Oh right," his father nodded as he eased Don to lie on his side again. He adjusted the sheets and blankets before reaching for and pressing the call button. "I'll see if we can get you some more painkillers."

"It's not that bad as long as I'm not putting pressure on my back."

"It doesn't have to be 'that bad' at all, Donny. Now is not the time to be stubborn."

"Not stubborn," Don protested, although the lack of conviction in his words made Alan think it was more for show than anything else.

_Of course you're stubborn,_ the older man thought with a grateful heart. _If you weren't, we'd have been pulling a body out of that vault…_

"You rang?" a cheerful voice inquired.

"I didn't," the agent grumbled in a low voice.

Alan ignored him as he looked up and smiled at Wanda. "He's experiencing some discomfort."

"Can't have that," she frowned as she moved to her patient's side. "Is it the burns on your back?"

"Yeah," Don reluctantly admitted.

"I'll get you something for the pain. Tell you what, it's about time to change the bandages back there and I've got a nice, soothing ointment that will also help. I'll be right back."

Alan nodded as she left the room and then turned his focus on Don, smiling at his son's drooping eyelids. "Sleepy again?"

"A little," the agent said around a yawn.

"Not too much longer and you can go back to sleep." _And I'll make sure I leave the light on this time._

"Here you go, Mister Eppes," Wanda cheerfully announced as she entered the room, handing a pair of pills to Alan and nodding to the pitcher of water by Don's bed. "If you will?"

"Of course." Alan filled his son's plastic mug and adjusted the drinking straw. He placed the two pills in Don's hand and watched as he awkwardly popped them into his mouth and took a swallow from the straw. He handed the mug back to his father and nodded his thanks.

"Okay, Don," Wanda began. "I need to be able to get to your entire back so we've got a couple of options. You can lie on your stomach, which I don't recommend because of your ribs, or you can sit up on the side of the bed and let your father support you."

"Do you mind?" the injured man sheepishly asked his father.

"Donny," Alan gently chided. "That's what I'm here for."

"Okay, Don, put your arms around your father's neck and let him guide you to sit up," Wanda instructed. She watched patiently as Alan leaned over and the agent obeyed her orders, tightly looping his arms around the older man's neck. "Lift him slowly, Mister Eppes. We don't want the damaged skin to be stretched or contracted too quickly."

"Alan," he corrected her as he finished sitting Don up. He held onto his son's hips as Wanda slid his feet to dangle off the side of the bed.

"That's perfect, Alan," she said with an approving smile. "How are you feeling, Don?"

"Little lightheaded," he confessed. "Not too bad."

"Hold him steady and I'll be as quick as I can."

Alan nodded to the nurse and tightened his hold on his son, smiling as Don returned the gesture as he continued to hang onto his father's neck. Despite Wanda's best efforts to be as gentle as possible, Don shifted and hissed in pain as she removed the bandages from his back. "You're doing good, Donny," he whispered.

"Very good," she agreed. "It may hurt while I'm putting this ointment on but I promise it will start to feel much better once I'm done."

Don remained silent, merely nodding against his father's shoulder as he began trembling from the strain of sitting upright for such a long time. Alan began gently massaging the tense muscles under his hands, careful to avoid the injured areas. He could feel his son leaning more heavily on him as his ministrations had the desired effect.

"Thanks."

Don's voice was barely audible even though his mouth was so close to Alan's ear. _My poor boy,_ he frowned, his heart aching at his son's obvious exhaustion. _On the bright side I think that means those pills are kicking in._ "Not much longer," he soothed as he cast a hopeful glance at Wanda.

"I'm just putting on the last bandage now," she nodded. "Then you can lie down and let the painkiller do its job."

Within a few minutes, Wanda had finished and Don was laying on his side, his father tucking the covers back around him. He gave the older man a sleepy smile and reached for his hand, giving it a grateful squeeze as he allowed eyes to drift closed.

"Sleep well," Alan whispered softly but Don was already out.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

Charlie sat in a chair and quietly studied his brother as he peacefully slept, safely tucked into his own bed on the second floor of the Craftsman house that was their home. It was dark outside, nearing midnight, but the young man could easily make out Don's features by the illumination of his nightlight.

_A nightlight._ Charlie really couldn't believe his brother – the tough, fearless FBI agent – needed it, but Alan had insisted. It didn't escape his notice that his father had bought one that had a built in air freshener and fan, currently filling the room with a pleasant, if not somewhat strong, cinnamon scent. "Just for a while until the memories aren't so fresh," his father had stated. Charlie didn't care if Don continued to sleep with a nightlight until he was ninety years old – he and Alan would never think less of him – but he knew Don would think less of himself.

_No worries, bro,_ Charlie thought as he leaned closer to the older man's form. _We'll get you through this and have you back to being your normal, hard-ass self. It may take some time, but we're not going anywhere._

Don suddenly muttered and shifted on the bed, rolling onto his back before his soft snores evened out.

Charlie smiled with joy, remembering how Don still couldn't stand to have any pressure in his back when he'd first come home from the hospital. Now, three days later, he was already showing drastic signs of improvement in that area. The marks around his ankles and wrists had started to fade away and his broken ribs, although still painful at times, had begun to mend, too. _See, bro? You're already well on your way to a physical recovery._

"No… not hurt."

_Here we go again,_ Charlie frowned. _Another nightmare. _"Shh, Don – you're safe. No one can hurt you." Charlie spoke with confidence, now that the ME had identified Gardenia's body and officially pronounced the sub-human scum dead. Given that it was Gardenia's obsession that led to Don's abduction and the obvious evidence that his own men had pulled the trigger, Charlie was certain that his brother was no longer in danger.

"Not them… me."

"It's okay, Don," Charlie soothed, reaching out and rubbing the older man's forearm.

"Have… keep Char…lie… Dad safe."

Don's broken words sent a shiver down Charlie's spine. _Obviously Gardenia threatened me and Dad at some point, but to what end? What was he trying to do to you, Don?_

"No," the injured man panted. "Breathe…"

Charlie pushed his thoughts to the side and grabbed his brother's shoulders, giving them a firm shake. "Wake up, Don!"

The agent's eyes shot open, wide and full of fear until he focused on his brother's face. "Charlie? You okay?"

_Only you, Don._ "I'm fine," he promised. "I'm a little more worried about you."

"I'm fine." The injured man pushed himself upright until he was leaning against the headboard. He lightly gripped Charlie's hands and gave them a brief squeeze as he lifted them from his shoulders. "I wake you up?"

_No, I was in here hovering._ "I was on my way to the bathroom and I heard you mumbling so I came in to check on you."

"Really?" Don asked with a raised eyebrow. "You always take your blanket and laptop with you to the bathroom?"

The professor glanced over to the chair and kicked himself for not formulating a better answer. "Okay, so I was in here keeping an eye on you. So sue me."

"It's your house," Don shrugged. "Far be it from me to tell you where to sleep."

_Wait a minute… he knows I was watching him and he's not upset? This can't be good._ "Are you sure you're okay, Don?"

"I'm home with my family, aren't I?"

"Yeah," the younger man nodded. "But you're not usually so _open_ about that."

"I thought I'd never see you again."

Don's voice was so low that Charlie almost didn't hear him. He peered through the dim light and saw his brother's eyes were glued to the blanket over his lap. _Now or never, I suppose._ "Is that what the nightmares are about? Never seeing me and Dad again?"

The older man sighed and twisted the blanket in his fingers. "You know what, Buddy? I am pretty tired. I'm going to get some more sleep."

"Don," Charlie spoke quickly, his voice a little more urgent than he intended. "Talking about it will help."

"Not you."

"What?"

"You don't want to know what's in my head. Heck, _I _don't want to know what's in my head."

"You're always there for me," Charlie told him. "Please let me return the favor."

"Not gonna happen," Don insisted angrily as he rolled onto his side away from the genius. "Now drop it and let me go to sleep."

"Okay," the professor relented, unable to keep the hurt from his voice at his brother's harsh tone.

The older man let out a weary sigh and reached back to pat the mattress behind him. "For God's sake, Charlie, at least lie on the bed while you hover. I don't want to be responsible for any cricks in your neck."

"Just because you and Dad aren't as young and flexible as me…"

"In the bed, Buddy," Don cut him off with a smile in his voice. "And Charlie?"

"Yeah?" the professor inquired as he carefully slid under the covers next to his brother.

"If you even _think_ of hogging the blankets I won't be the only injured son that Dad has to mother hen."

--

Don peeked through the door of his room, making sure the hallway was clear and his dad's door was closed, before slipping from his room and quietly sneaking toward the staircase. Being cooped up in his room for three days had finally driven him stir crazy and he was dying for a change of scenery – the couch, the dining table, the great outdoors…

"Donny?"

_Boy does that tone of voice bring back memories. If I didn't know better I'd say I just broke my curfew._ Pasting what he hoped looked like a contrite look on his face, the agent glanced over his shoulder. "Hey, Dad."

The older man crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway to his bedroom, raising an eyebrow and fixing Don with an expectant look.

_Contrite never worked back when I was teenager either. Time for some damage control, Eppes._ "I was a little thirsty and I thought I'd go to the kitchen and get some water."

"Oh?" his father asked innocently as he wandered to his oldest son's bedroom and looked inside. "Something wrong with the glass on your nightstand? The one I brought you thirty minutes ago?"

_How is it I can lie right to a suspect's face without any trouble but Dad knows the second I've uttered one false word?_ "I, um…"

"If you wanted to go downstairs for a while why didn't you just tell me?"

"Because I'm a grown man and I don't need my father and brother hovering around me all day long." Don winced as his words sounded harsh even to him.

"Donny," his father said with amazing patience. "Charlie and I are trying not to hover – we really aren't. But you have to understand that we've been through an ordeal, too. It killed us when we didn't know where you were, hoping and praying for good news those days that you were gone…. and getting _nothing_. Put the shoe on the other foot – how would you have felt if one of _us_ had been in danger and you didn't know where we were?"

_Almost happened, Dad. Only I would have known exactly where you were and whose fault it was that you were there._

"Donny? Are you alright?"

It was then that Don realized his father had crossed the space between them and was holding him upright against the wall, his own legs suddenly too weak to support him. "Little lightheaded," he fibbed. "I'm better now."

There was something in his father's eyes that told him the older man again knew he was lying, but Alan played it off with an 'I-told-you-so' smile. "And if that had happened while you were going down the stairs? What then, young man?"

"Charlie's homeowner's insurance would have gone up?"

"And my rent," Alan played along. "So you see, I'm only looking out for my best interests."

"Right," the agent grinned.

"Now, let me help you downstairs and we'll get you settled on the couch. Once I know you're okay, I'll give you some space."

"Wait," Don protested as he latched onto his father's wrist. "I didn't mean that like it sounded."

"I know that, son."

"No, you don't. I _do_ want to get out of my room but…" He gave his father a warm, slightly self-conscious smile. "I did miss you and Charlie… a lot. Some company would be nice."

"If you're sure."

"I am. Unless there's somewhere else you'd rather be?"

"Donny," his father's voice was full of love and affection. "There's nowhere else in the world I'd rather be right now."

--

Charlie quietly slipped into the FBI bullpen and toward his brother's desk. He'd hedged his bets that Megan and the rest of Don's team would take their semi-usual lunch break and the gamble had paid off. He navigated through the empty desks until he reached Megan's, where he casually started flipping through the case files until he found the one he wanted. Sliding it into his briefcase, Charlie found an empty conference room and slipped inside, closing the door behind him. He took a seat at the table and opened his laptop so it would appear that he was working before turning his attention to the file in front of him. The professor took a deep breath and flipped open the brown folder labeled "Don Eppes".

The first thing he saw were pictures of Don taken at George Duncan's house. He'd already seen the one of his brother in the vault but was completely unprepared for the other one of Don, strapped to a table with a terrified look on his face. His body didn't bear any marks, just a single white gardenia on his chest, and Charlie realized with growing horror that this moment, captured on film, was the precise point in time when Don realized who had abducted him and what that meant for his future.

_You knew you were going to be tortured, didn't you?_ Charlie silently questioned his brother's image. _My God, Don… You **knew** what was coming. _Feeling a rising sickness in his stomach, the young man quickly turned the picture over and found himself looking at a series of crime scene photos which did nothing to ease his discomfort. The first was a picture of the metal table and the thick leather restraints that had left their mark on his brother's flesh. The next picture was focused on a portable heater, conveniently located next to the table, and it didn't take someone of Charlie's intelligence to figure out what that meant. As if in a trance, Charlie found himself flipping through the remaining photographs. Two splintered baseball bats, bloody ropes, rust stained metal cuffs, a cattle prod – frequently used if the number of blisters on Don's chest were any indication – and a hook in the ceiling, seemingly innocuous unless you knew what had occurred in that basement.

Charlie quickly closed his eyes and took some deep breaths, hoping to banish the images from his mind. _How did you manage to survive all that?_ Charlie wondered. _All alone with no rescue in sight? Did you know we were looking, Don? Did you think we'd failed you or, worse yet, that we'd given up?_

Shaking his head to clear the awful train of thought, Charlie returned his attention to the folder, making sure the offending pictures were face down on the table. The next item was a typed report – "Statement from Special Agent Don Eppes as recorded by Special Agent David Sinclair". The professor read the first sentence and realized that although David had typed the pages, the statement was given in first person which seemed to make it all the more real.

The report began with the explosion in the parking garage and his brother being attacked and drugged, quickly jumping to the moment when one of Gardenia's men had delivered the flower. In the next sentence Don described seeing the crime boss standing before him, alive and with revenge on his mind. "He told me that he was going to make me want to die – that I would beg him to kill me before he was finished." _No, Don,_ Charlie thought proudly. _I know you better than that. You would never give in to someone like that. **Never.**_

He continued reading and found that he couldn't turn away, even as Don spoke in detail about the different torments he'd been subjected to over the course of his captivity. The young man's eyes burned with unshed tears as Don spoke of growing weaker but forcing himself to remain strong until help arrived – which he knew would happen because Charlie never let him down. _But I did, Don. God help me, I did and I'm so sorry._

Swallowing back a sob, Charlie forced himself to keep reading until he reached the point where Don found out where he was. "As soon as I recognized Charlie's house, Gardenia threatened to grab Dad and Charlie and put them through the same torture as he had me. I couldn't let that happen to them no matter what. Even though I knew he might be lying, I didn't have another choice. So I gave in and asked him to kill me."

Charlie sat in a stunned silence as he read the last line over and over, his mind reeling with the implications of the statement – Don was willing to sacrifice himself to keep him and Dad safe. He'd always known that Don would do anything to protect them, but then to read, in Don's own words, that he had actually _done_ it – asked a madman to kill him… It was something that Charlie knew he'd be thinking about for a long time. It also made him want to rush home and hug Don close, to return the favor and keep him safe from the world for a change.

_Yeah,_ Charlie thought with a bitter laugh. _That would go over really well when he asks what you're doing and you tell him you swiped his file to take a look-see and realized just how much he-_

"Charlie?"

He whipped around so fast that he snagged the file and the pictures with his jacket sleeve, scattering them on the floor where they surrounded him with evidence of his deceitful act. "Megan," he choked. "I… aren't you at lunch?"

"I was," she remarked dryly. "It only lasts an hour."

Charlie glanced at his watch and saw that he'd been in the conference room for almost two hours.

"I wanted to glance over Don's file and make sure it was complete before I submitted it. Imagine my surprise when I saw it was missing."

"I… I can explain," he stammered.

"Oh? The look on Don's face when you do should be priceless."

"You're… you're not going to tell him… are you?"

"I should," she frowned as she knelt down and gathered the mess of papers. "But I like working with you so I don't want to see Don have your consulting status pulled, which he could." She shoved the report and pictures inside, closing the folder and standing back up to fix Charlie with a malcontented look. "There's also the distinct possibility of seeing my boss go to jail for murdering his brother."

"That's not funny," he countered, the color draining from his face as he thought again of the sacrifice Don had made.

"God, Charlie, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." She was beside him in an instant, forcing his head down between his knees and rubbing his back. "Take some deep breaths. If you pass out and I have to call someone, Don will know something happened here and he's smart enough to have an idea or two."

"I'll be okay," he assured her in a tone that was anything but confident. "Just a minute or two."

"You stay there while I turn in this report."

Charlie wanted to protest because he hadn't read the last few paragraphs of his brother's statement, but he figured Megan was cutting him a ton of slack already and just nodded as she left the room. By the time she'd returned a few minutes later, he was sitting up in his chair, leaning his head in his hands and staring at the table.

"Why?" she asked, taking a seat next to him. "You knew Don didn't want you to know."

"But I had to," he whispered in a weak voice. "He's been having these nightmares at home where he mumbles about keeping me and Dad safe. I knew something must have happened and I didn't know how to help him until I found out what that something was."

"And now?"

His shoulders sagged in defeat and he shook his head. "I still don't know."

"But I bet you have a lot of disturbing images to keep you company for the next few nights," Megan remarked.

"Try years," he snorted. "I really thought it would help if I knew." The professor raised his head and gave her a desperate stare. "I really did."

"I know you did, Charlie." She leaned back in her chair and studied the younger man in silence, as if weighing what she was about to say. "Did you know Don has a Bureau therapist that he's been seeing?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Doctor Bradford."

"So maybe Don should make a few more appointments?"

He eyed Megan with a sad half-smile on his face. "And how do you suggest I broach _that_ subject?"

"The only way that will work, Charlie." Megan leaned forward and placed her hand on his chest. "From the heart."

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

Alan yawned as he wearily climbed the stairs to his bedroom, stopping along the way to check on his sleeping sons. He peeked through Don's doorway first, smiling as he saw his oldest stretched out on the bed, his light snores rhythmic and soothing in the quiet of the house. Alan moved to Charlie's room, not surprised to find the younger man tangled in his sheets, his disheveled curls covering his face. He started to leave when he realized that Charlie wasn't snoring – his breathing was erratic and growing more so by the minute. The older man slipped into the room and moved closer to the bed where he was able to see the way his son's damp tee shirt clung to his skin.

"Charlie?" he whispered as he brushed aside the curls to place a hand on his forehead. _No fever._

The genius muttered and tossed his head, dislodging his father's hand and issuing a whimper at some unknown source of distress. His arms strained against the twisted linens as he flung himself onto his side.

"Charlie," Alan called again as he set about trying to untangle the sheets to free his son's limbs. "Whatever it is, it's only a dream."

"No," Charlie moaned. "Stop…"

"Charlie," the eldest Eppes called again, as loudly as he could without waking Don in the other room. "Wake up, son."

"Hurting him," the professor protested. Then, without any warning, he bolted upright in bed and let out a desperate yell. "Don!"

"Shh," Alan soothed, wanting to calm his youngest but also keep his injured son from waking up. "It was just a dream, Charlie. Don's safe. Calm down."

"He's okay?" the professor panted.

"Fine, Charlie. We found him and brought him home, remember? He's sleeping in the other room."

"_Was_ sleeping."

Alan turned and saw Don leaning in the doorway, looking for all the world like he might collapse at any moment. "Donny, come sit down before you fall down." His eyes widened in surprise as his eldest obeyed without complaint.

"What's wrong, Buddy?" Don asked his brother, all three men wincing as Alan turned on the lamp.

Charlie remained silent as he avoided his brother's gaze, finally giving a shrug for an answer.

"Charlie," Alan said in a firm voice. "It will help to talk about it." _And if you do, maybe your brother will follow suit._

"I had a nightmare," the genius suddenly spoke, his eyes flitting up to Don's face. "About you being… about what you went through."

"Oh?" the agent inquired, his voice pointedly calm. "How would you know what I went through?"

"I…" Charlie trailed off as he saw the anger in his brother's eyes.

"Donny," his father cautioned.

"No, Dad," he hissed. "Let the little boy wonder over there answer me." He stood and moved toward Charlie's bed, angrily eyeing the younger man the entire time. "How do you know what I went through?"

"You wouldn't talk to us, Don."

"You didn't," the agent growled. "Because I swear to God if you did, you'll never consult for me, my team, or the FBI ever again."

"Donny!" Alan exclaimed. "Calm down."

"The FBI, Don?" Charlie shot back, his own temper flaring. "Since when do you head the _entire_ FBI?"

"So that's a 'yes', then?" Don demanded in a victorious tone.

"What, are you a mind reader now?"

"You're pretty easy to read, Math Boy."

"Stop it!" Alan commanded, frowning as his sons continued on like he wasn't there.

"So are you, Don. Especially when Dad and I see you having the same nightmares every night!"

"So you think that gives you the right to do what you did?"

"I think it does, yes," Charlie hissed.

"So you _are_ admitting it?" Don challenged.

"Yes! All right? Yes! I went to your office and I read your file." Charlie pushed himself off the bed and leaned into his brother's face. "I read everything that animal did to you!"

"You had no right," Don growled, his voice low and dangerous as if he were confronting a suspect. His hands clenched at his side, his right one slowly moving upward, toward his younger brother's face.

"Boys," Alan pleaded as he restrained Don's fist with one hand and gripped Charlie's shoulder with the other. "Let's not argue like this."

"No," Charlie shook his head as he shrugged off his father's hand. "I'm not ashamed of what I did. Not at all." The professor swiveled his gaze back toward his brother and angrily plowed ahead. "You won't talk about what happened, Don. None of it. But what you seem to forget is that Dad and I have been here for you the entire time. We hear your nightmares, we see your pain, we reach out to you in every way possible. Why else do you think there's a nightlight and a chair with an impression of our butts in your room? Huh?"

"It's my story to tell or keep because it happened to _me_," Don reminded him.

"No, Don," Charlie said sadly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "It happened to _us_ – all of us. Can't you see that?"

"It wasn't supposed to happen to you," the agent stated. "That's why I…" His voice trailed off.

"You what, Donny?" Alan pressed.

"Tell him, Don."

"You know what, Charlie?" Don asked wearily. "You think he needs to know so badly – needs to have nightmares, too – _you_ tell him. I'm going to bed."

"Donny," his father protested, but the injured man had already returned to his room, shutting the door and locking his family out. Alan turned his gaze to Charlie and held up his hands in frustration. "Just what was in that file?"

"How Gardenia got to him."

"What are you talking about? How he abducted him?"

"No, Dad. How Gardenia made Don ask to die."

"No, Charlie. Your brother would never…" Alan looked at the despair in his son's eyes and realized he was telling the truth. "But how…? I mean, your brother wouldn't…"

"He has a weakness, Dad. Two, actually."

The older man thoughtfully stared at his son as he mulled over his words. When the realization came, it hit him hard and without warning, causing his knees to buckle as he crumpled onto his youngest son's bed. "That's why he picked George's house."

"Yes," Charlie whispered.

"So he could use us… Oh God." Alan clung to the mattress as the world around him spun out of control. _Don had asked Gardenia to kill him to save us?_ "We can't let him shut us out. He can't go through this alone."

"I know, Dad, but you saw how mad he was. What if… what if I crossed a line this time and there's no turning back? What then?"

"You can't think like that, Charlie," the older man stated, although he was wondering the exact same thing.

--

Don awoke the next morning to the feel of sunlight on his face, although the comforting warmth did nothing to alleviate his dour mood. He blinked grouchily in the bright light as he rolled away from the window and buried his face in his pillow, trying to block out the memories of the night before.

_How dare that little twerp... thinking he's entitled to be in **my** business. That statement was personal and private – as private as an official statement can be – but he just had to go snooping around. I better not find out that my team had anything to with it or I'll have them on desk duty in Alaska for the rest of their careers._

With a frustrated sigh Don lifted his head from the pillow and eyed the alarm clock – still turned off due to his Dad's strict interpretation of 'relaxing and taking it easy'. _Eight o'clock,_ the agent lamented. _I should be at the office already, not lounging around on medical leave. I **hate** this._

He climbed out of bed and headed for the door, pausing to lean his head against the smooth wood as he prayed his family wasn't waiting outside to talk about what had happened last night. Steeling his nerves, Don threw open the door and smiled victoriously when he realized the entire upstairs was empty. He ambled to the bathroom and went about his morning routine, emerging a few moments later feeling slightly more human and marginally less displeased. He'd already started back to his room when a wonderful, delicious aroma wafted past his nose.

_Pancakes? If Dad's cooking those then Charlie's probably not here. Maybe I could sneak down for a quick bite._ His growling stomach egging him on, Don practically skipped down the stairs and into the dining room, his eyes lighting up at the stack of fluffy goodness sitting in the center of the table.

"Good morning," his father greeted as he appeared through the swinging door, his arms full of plates, silverware, butter and syrup.

"Morning," Don grinned as he unloaded his father's arms and began setting the table. "Let me."

"To what do I owe the pleasure of having you willingly set the table?"

"Hey, you cook my favorite breakfast and miracles can happen," the younger man shot back. "What's the occasion?"

"I'm happy to have my son back."

"Oh," Don blushed, uncomfortable at the idea of another conversation like the one the night before. "I'm happy to be back." He took a seat and placed three pancakes on his plate, waiting for his father to do the same before digging in. "Delicious, Dad. You're a wonderful cook."

"It's your mother's recipe," he pointed out.

"You cook it just as well as she did. In fact, I'd say this is still my favorite breakfast food." He pointedly glanced at Charlie's empty seat and scowled. "Not to mention the fringe benefits of a pancake breakfast are incredible."

"You want to hear something interesting?"

Don's fork froze halfway to his mouth as he sensed a 'father knows best' moment coming on. "Do I have a choice?"

His father gave him a disapproving look and proceeded to talk. "The day we found you – that morning – Charlie asked me to cook pancakes. He cleaned his plate, too."

"Why?" Don asked as the fork finished its journey to his mouth. "He doesn't even like them."

Alan leaned forward and smiled at his oldest son as he fixed him with an intense look. "Whose favorite food are they?"

"Mine."

"Exactly."

"Exactly what?" the agent asked, only half paying attention as he started to take another bite.

"He missed you, Donny, and he thought having your favorite food would make him feel closer to you."

Don's hand lowered back to the table, setting the fork down and grabbing his napkin. "He… really?"

"Yes." Alan, sensing that he had captured his son's attention, leaned back in his chair and continued speaking. "He loves you a great deal, son. It tore us up not to know where you were or if we would ever see you again."

"I'm back now," Don countered as his earlier mood began to return.

"Are you?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Your brother is right, Donny. At night when you sleep, you're plagued by horrible nightmares. You have been ever since you woke up at the hospital."

Don refused to respond one way or the other, knowing that denying the obvious truth would be pointless, but reluctant to confirm anything that might make him appear weak or needy.

"Charlie and I hear you suffering while we try to wake you up. And then you mention our names, like you've lost everything in the world that meant something to you. Don't you understand? Your brother lives in a black and white world of logic where he can solve any problem as long as he has enough data. So he sees that you're hurting and wants to help but doesn't know how."

Don nodded slightly, marveling at his father's ability to understand and explain the enigma that was his little brother. "Because he doesn't have enough data," he finished.

"He was so desperate to help you that he jumped at the one thing he thought could give him the ability to do so without even thinking about the other effects his actions might have." Alan leaned forward again and covered Don's hand. "Can you really hold that against him?"

The agent sighed as he ran a hand through his rumpled hair. "I understand what you're saying, Dad. Still… it was _my_ file and none of his business. He has to learn that a high IQ and security clearance don't give him the right to read anything he wants – no matter how concerned for me he might be."

"I agree, Donny," Alan assured him. "But who do you think would be the best person to point that out to him?"

"All right," Don smiled, shaking his head in defeat as he loaded his plate up with more pancakes. "Hint taken. I'll talk to him later, okay?"

Alan gave him an appreciative look and nodded. "That's all I ask, son."

TBC


	18. Chapter 18 Conclusion

**A/N:** Thanks for those of you who read and reviewed. I hope you enjoy the last chapter, too.

After breakfast, Don found himself wandering out to the solitude of the garage. As he pushed the door open and stepped inside, he was surrounded by the omnipresent scent of chalk and old textbooks. With a sudden start he realized that not only were the scents familiar but also incredibly comforting. He flopped down on to the old green sofa and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and letting the essence that was his brother surround him with feelings of love and comfort.

He must have dozed off because the next thing Don knew, the room was filled with the soft clicking sounds of chalk on a blackboard. Opening his eyes, the agent smiled as he saw his younger brother working on the board closest to the sofa. "I think you forgot an 'x'."

The young man nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of his brother's voice, whipping around and blushing a deep shade of red. "What?" He turned to look back at the board, rolling his eyes and shaking his head as he realized his brother was teasing. "Very funny, Don."

"I thought so, thanks." Charlie eyed him and Don had the suddenly felt like he was a lab room display. He quickly pushed himself to a sitting position and crossed his arms over his chest as if he could keep some shred of privacy.

"I didn't mean to wake you," the younger man apologized. "But this idea hit me and you know how I am if-"

"I know," Don cut him off with a smile. "Don't worry about it. I've been sleeping too much as it is."

Charlie opened his mouth to speak, seemed to think better of it, and quickly turned back to his work with a slight shrug.

Don yawned and stretched loudly, grinning triumphantly when Charlie's hand faltered, his current train of thought lost to his brother's deliberate distraction. The professor took a deep breath and started writing again, his shoulders sagging as Don released another loud yawn. He turned around and raised an eyebrow. "You okay?"

"What?" Don asked with feigned innocence.

"You _sound_ tired." Don almost laughed out loud at the emphasis Charlie put on the second word. "I could help you upstairs."

"Trying to get rid of me?"

"No," the younger man quickly shook his head, setting down his chalk and joining his brother on the couch. "Of course not."

"Good because I thought maybe we could talk for a bit."

"Talk?" Charlie's eyebrows arched skyward. "About?"

"The migration of robins," Don said with exasperation. "What do you think?"

"Robins actually don't migrate-"

"Charlie, I was kidding." The agent rolled his eyes as Charlie stared at him with a confused look on his face. "Wonderful. _Now_ who wants to avoid the subject?"

"Oh," the professor mumbled as realization dawned on him. "You want to talk about…" He licked his lips and judged the distance to the door. "Do I get a head start?"

"I'm not mad, Buddy."

"Right," Charlie snorted. "You could have fooled me last night."

"Last night I was. Today… not so much."

"Good." The young man studied his older brother as he tried to gauge his mood. "I really _am_ sorry that what I did hurt you."

"But not sorry about the action itself?"

"No, because I thought it really would help me to help you. I won't apologize for that."

"I understand," Don told him, chuckling at the look of disbelief on his brother's face. "But you need to realize that you can't just help yourself to case file because you want to know what's inside. The phrase 'need to know' exists for a reason."

"I'm scared, Don," Charlie whispered. "You're healing so well, physically speaking. But the dreams you still have… I want to help."

"Look, I'll forgive you for what you did if you promise me you'll never pull another stunt like that again." He held out his hand and smiled when Charlie shook it.

"Deal."

"Now," Don began, his tone changing from confident to uncertain. "My dreams… I… you know what they're about?"

"I had an idea before I read your statement," Charlie informed him. "And now, when you call out for Dad and me, afraid that we might be hurt, I know exactly what you're reliving."

"The physical stuff I can handle," the agent stated, surprising himself at how open he was being. "I always could. But when he said that… I saw the house, Charlie. He said that you wouldn't… and Dad's…" Don growled and swiped at the embarrassing moisture in his eyes. "I couldn't chance it… I said what he wanted to hear."

"And in your dreams – he doesn't leave us alone?"

"No," Don whispered sadly. "I see you both going through what he did to me. That hurts worse than anything I actually lived through."

Charlie hesitated and stared at the floor. "The sacrifice you made to save us and I…I let you down."

"_What?_ David told me everything you did." He reached out and grabbed the professor's chin, forcing Charlie to look at him. "You _saved_ me, Buddy."

"No, Don. I should have found you sooner. I should have stopped him before…" Charlie voice cracked and his eyes shone with unshed tears.

"You stopped him before he killed me, Buddy."

"That's not good enough," he protested. "Sixty hours, Don. That madman and his goons had you for _sixty hours_ and I didn't do anything to stop it."

"If that was true then I wouldn't be here right now, would I?" Don's hand slipped to his brother's shoulder and he gave him a warm smile. "But here I am, alive and recovering, giving Dad more gray hairs and yelling at you like big brothers are supposed to do."

"You're not yelling right now," Charlie countered as a ghost of a smile crept onto his face.

The agent teased "I could start."

"No, this is a nice change – just talking." His suddenly leaned forward and gently hugged his brother. "I love you, Don."

"Me too, Buddy," Don whispered back, returning the embrace and holding his brother's head against his shoulder. "Shh," he soothed as he felt tears seeping through his tee shirt. "You're okay."

"No," he shook his head against the damp fabric. "I'm not going to be okay until you are."

"I'm working on it," Don promised as he soothingly rubbed Charlie's back.

"Maybe," the younger man spoke as he pulled back to meet Don's eyes. "Maybe Doctor Bradford could help?"

Don studied his brother for a moment, feeling responsible for the anguished look on his face and deciding that he would do whatever it took to fix it. "You know what, Buddy? Maybe you're right."

--

_Last night to have a full house,_ Alan thought to himself as he drained the dishwater from the sink, hung the towel from a drawer-pull and headed for bed. _Donny's back to his apartment tomorrow and back to work the week after. _

He switched off the lights in each room as he worked his way toward the stairs. His last task before going upstairs was to make sure the front door was tightly locked – a new part of his routine implemented after Don's abduction. He knew if someone was really intent on breaking in then a couple of locks wouldn't stop them, but the gesture gave him peace of mind, which was something he'd been afraid he would never experience again.

The house locked and secure, Alan climbed the stairs and walked down the hallway. His first stop was at Charlie's door, quietly pushing it open to check on his youngest son. Satisfied that he was resting peacefully and nightmare-free, the eldest Eppes pulled the door closed and moved across the hall to his other son's room. He pushed the door open and slipped inside, wanting to see Don sleep since this would be his last chance to do so for a while. Alan leaned over the bed and smiled at his oldest son's relaxed features before moving to a nearby chair to watch him sleep, telling himself it would just be for a few minutes.

Don, as though sensing his father's presence, rolled onto his side toward Alan and sighed in contentment. His father took the moment to study his face – the bruise along the jaw having completely faded away – and his wrists which were also free of any marks. The last time he'd managed to get a peek at Don's back – another night when Don had been sleeping and his tee shirt had ridden up – the scars were healing nicely but would be visible for a while to come. His ribs had also healed, as evidenced by his son's smooth, even snoring.

The best and most significant part of Don's recovery was the fact that he hadn't had a nightmare in over a week, thanks largely – in Alan's opinion – to his appointments with Doctor Bradford. The kind therapist had been more than willing to increase the frequency of Don's visits in light of his ordeal and the results were both wonderful and amazing.

A feeling of happiness washed over Alan as he leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes, marveling that their lives were almost back to normal.

"Dad."

His eyes shot open at the sound of Don's sleepy and somewhat amused voice. "Donny? Are you okay?"

"Fine," his son assured him.

"Why are you awake?"

"I had to go to the bathroom," Don chuckled. "Why are you in my room?"

"I… was too tired to make it to mine?"

"Yeah, the extra few feet could do you in at your age," he laughed softly. "Seriously, I'm okay now, Dad. No nightmares at all."

"I know and I'm glad." Alan yawned, stood up from his chair and studied his son's face, finding it very difficult to do in the nightlight-free darkness. "I honestly was just checking on you. It's my last chance to do so until you crash here after work again."

"Thanks, Dad."

"For?" Alan asked in surprise.

"For caring so much, being there for me, not giving up on me while I was gone…" Don looped his arms around his father's neck and held him tightly. "For loving me."

Alan wrapped his arms around Don and held him close. "Always, son."

The End


End file.
